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Centcnarp  €tiition 

THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF 
RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON 

WITH 

A  BIOGRAPHICAL 

INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

BY  EDWARD  WALDO  EMERSON  AND 

A  GENERAL  INDEX 

VOLUME 
IV 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 


SEVEN   LECTURES 


BY 


RALPH   WALDO    EMERSON 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

;£f;e  Oitjcrsibr  press 


COPYRIGHT,  1876,   BY    RALPH    WALDO    EMEKSON 

COPYRIGHT,  1883    AND    1903,   BY    EDWARD    W.  EMERSON 

ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


STACK  ANNEX 


CONTENTS  fr/ 

PACK  (103 

I.  USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  i 

II.   PLATO  ;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER  37 

PLATO:  NEW  READINGS  80 

III.  SWEDENBORG;  OR,  THE  MYSTIC  91 

IV.  MONTAIGNE  ;  OR,  THE  SKEPTIC  147 
V.  SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET  187 

VI.  NAPOLEON;  OR,   THE    MAN  OF  THE 

WORLD  221 

VII.   GOETHE:  OR,    THE   WRITER  259 

NOTES  291 


I 

USES   OF   GREAT   MEN 


USES    OF    GREAT    MEN 

IT  is  natural  to  believe  in  great  men.  If  the 
companions  of  our  childhood  should  turn 
out  to  be  heroes,  and  their  condition  regal  it 
would  not  surprise  us.1  All  mythology  opens 
with  demigods,  and  the  circumstance  is  high 
and  poetic ;  that  is,  their  genius  is  paramount. 
In  the  legends  of  the  Gautama,  the  first  men 
ate  the  earth  and  found  it  deliciously  sweet. 

Nature  seems  to  exist  for  the  excellent.  The 
world  is  upheld  by  the  veracity  of  good  men  : 
they  make  the  earth  wholesome.  They  who 
lived  with  them  found  life  glad  and  nutritious. 
Life  is  sweet  and  tolerable  only  in  our  belief  in 
such  society  ;  and,  actually  or  ideally,  we  man 
age  to  live  with  superiors.  We  call  our  children 
and  our  lands  by  their  names.  Their  names  are 
wrought  into  the  verbs  of  language,  their  works 
and  efHgies  are  in  our  houses,  and  every  circum 
stance  of  the  day  recalls  an  anecdote  of  them. 

The  search  after  the  great  man  is  the  dream 
of  youth  and  the  most  serious  occupation  of 
manhood.  We  travel  into  foreign  parts  to  find 
his  works,  —  if  possible,  to  get  a  glimpse  of  him. 
But  we  are  put  off  with  fortune  instead.  You 


4  REPRESENTATIVE    MEN 

say,  the  English  are  practical ;  the  Germans  are 
hospitable  ;  in  Valencia  the  climate  is  delicious  ; 
and  in  the  hills  of  the  Sacramento  there  is  gold 
for  the  gathering.  Yes,  but  I  do  not  travel  to 
find  comfortable,  rich  and  hospitable  people,  or 
clear  sky,  or  ingots  that  cost  too  much.  But  if 
there  were  any  magnet  that  would  point  to  the 
countries  and  houses  where  are  the  persons  who 
are  intrinsically  rich  and  powerful,  I  would  sell 
all  and  buy  it,  and  put  myself  on  the  road  to 
day.1 

The  race  goes  with  us  on  their  credit.  The 
knowledge  that  in  the  city  is  a  man  who  in 
vented  the  railroad,  raises  the  credit  of  all  the 
citizens.  But  enormous  populations,  if  they  be 
beggars,  are  disgusting,  like  moving  cheese,  like 
hills  of  ants  or  of  fleas,  —  the  more,  the  worse.* 

Our  religion  is  the  love  and  cherishing  of 
these  patrons.  The  gods  of  fable  are  the  shining 
moments  of  great  men.3  We  run  all  our  vessels 
into  one  mould.  Our  colossal  theologies  of  Ju 
daism,  Christism,  Buddhism,  Mahometism,  are 
the  necessary  and  structural  action  of  the  human 
mind.  The  student  of  history  is  like  a  man  go 
ing  into  a  warehouse  to  buy  cloths  or  carpets. 
He  fancies  he  has  a  new  article.  If  he  go  to  the 
factory,  he  shall  find  that  his  new  stuff  still  re- 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  5 

peats  the  scrolls  and  rosettes  which  are  found 
on  the  interior  walls  of  the  pyramids  of  Thebes. 
Our  theism  is  the  purification  of  the  human 
mind.  Man  can  paint,  or  make,  or  think,  no 
thing  but  man.  He  believes  that  the  great 
material  elements  had  their  origin  from  his 
thought.  And  our  philosophy  finds  one  essence 
collected  or  distributed. 

If  now  we  proceed  to  inquire  into  the  kinds 
of  service  we  derive  from  others,  let  us  be 
warned  of  the  danger  of  modern  studies,  and 
begin  low  enough.  We  must  not  contend 
against  love,  or  deny  the  substantial  existence 
of  other  people.1  I  know  not  what  would  hap 
pen  to  us.  We  have  social  strengths.  Our  af 
fection  towards  others  creates  a  sort  of  vantage 
or  purchase  which  nothing  will  supply.  I  can 
do  that  by  another  which  I  cannot  do  alone.  I 
can  say  to  you  what  I  cannot  first  say  to  my 
self.  Other  men  are  lenses  through  which  we 
read  our  own  minds.  Each  man  seeks  those  of 
different  quality  from  his  own,  and  such  as  are 
good  of  their  kind  ;  that  is,  he  seeks  other  men, 
and  the  otherest.  The  stronger  the  nature,  the 
more  it  is  reactive.  Let  us  have  the  quality 
pure.  A  little  genius  let  us  leave  alone.  A  main 


6  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

difference  betwixt  men  is,  whether  they  attend 
their  own  affair  or  not.  Man  is  that  noble  en 
dogenous  plant  which  grows,  like  the  palm,  from 
within  outward.  His  own  affair,  though  impos 
sible  to  others,  he  can  open  with  celerity  and  in 
sport.  It  is  easy  to  sugar  to  be  sweet  and  to 
nitre  to  be  salt.  We  take  a  great  deal  of  pains 
to  waylay  and  entrap  that  which  of  itself  will  fall 
into  our  hands.  I  count  him  a  great  man  who 
inhabits  a  higher  sphere  of  thought,  into  which 
other  men  rise  with  labor  and  difficulty  ;  he  has 
but  to  open  his  eyes  to  see  things  in  a  true  light 
and  in  large  relations,  whilst  they  must  make 
painful  corrections  and  keep  a  vigilant  eye  on 
many  sources  of  error.  His  service  to  us  is  of 
like  sort.  It  costs  a  beautiful  person  no  exertion 
to  paint  her  image  on  our  eyes  ;  yet  how  splen 
did  is  that  benefit !  It  costs  no  more  for  a  wise 
soul  to  convey  his  quality  to  other  men.  And 
every  one  can  do  his  best  thing  easiest.  "  Peu 
de  moyenS)  beaucoup  d* effet"  He  is  great  who  is 
what  he  is  from  nature,  and  who  never  reminds 
us  of  others. 

But  he  must  be  related  to  us,  and  our  life  re 
ceive  from  him  some  promise  of  explanation.  I 
cannot  tell  what  I  would  know ;  but  I  have  ob 
served  there  are  persons  who,  in  their  character 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  7 

and  actions,  answer  questions  which  I  have  not  . 
skill  to  put.  One  man  answers  some  question 
which  none  of  his  contemporaries  put,  and  is 
isolated.  The  past  and  passing  religions  and 
philosophies  answer  some  other  question.  Cer 
tain  men  affect  us  as  rich  possibilities,  but  help 
less  to  themselves  and  to  their  times,  —  the 
sport  perhaps  of  some  instinct  that  rules  in  the 
air  ;  —  they  do  not  speak  to  our  want.1  But  the 
great  are  near  ;  we  know  them  at  sight.  They 
satisfy  expectation  and  fall  into  place.  What  is 
good  is  effective,  generative  ;  makes  for  itself 
room,  food  and  allies.  A  sound  apple  produces 
seed,  —  a  hybrid  does  not.  Is  a  man  in  his 
place,  he  is  constructive,  fertile,  magnetic,  inun 
dating  armies  with  his  purpose,  which  is  thus 
executed.  The  river  makes  its  own  shores,  and 
each  legitimate  idea  makes  its  own  channels  and 
welcome,  —  harvests  for  food,  institutions  for 
expression,  weapons  to  fight  with  and  disciples 
to  explain  it.  The  true  artist  has  the  planet 
for  his  pedestal ;  the  adventurer,  after  years  of 
strife,  has  nothing  broader  than  his  own  shoes. 
Our  common  discourse  respects  two  kinds  of 
use  or  service  from  superior  men.  Direct  giving 
is  agreeable  to  the  early  belief  of  men ;  direct 
giving  of  material  or  metaphysical  aid,  as  of 


8  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

health,  eternal  youth,  fine  senses,  arts  of  heal- 
ing,  magical  power  and  prophecy.  The  boy 
believes  there  is  a  teacher  who  can  sell  him  wis 
dom.  Churches  believe  in  imputed  merit.  But, 
in  strictness,  we  are  not  much  cognizant  of  direct 
serving.  Man  is  endogenous,  and  education  is 
his  unfolding.  The  aid  we  have  from  others 
is  mechanical  compared  with  the  discoveries  of 
nature  in  us.  What  is  thus  learned  is  delight 
ful  in  the  doing,  and  the  effect  remains.  Right 
ethics  are  central  and  go  from  the  soul  outward. 
Gift  is  contrary  to  the  law  of  the  universe.  Serv 
ing  others  is  serving  us.  I  must  absolve  me  to 
myself.  (  Mind  thy  affair,'  says  the  spirit :  — 
*  coxcomb,  would  you  meddle  with  the  skies, 
or  with  other  people  ?  '  Indirect  service  is  left.1 
Men  have  a  pictorial  or  representative  qual 
ity,  and  serve  us  in  the  intellect.  Behmen  2  and 
Swedenborg  saw  that  things  were  representative. 
Men  are  also  representative ;  first,  of  things, 
and  secondly,  of  ideas. 

As  plants  convert  the  minerals  into  food  for 
animals,  so  each  man  converts  some  raw  mate 
rial  in  nature  to  human  use.  The  inventors 
of  fire,  electricity,  magnetism,  iron,  lead,  glass, 
linen,  silk,  cotton ;  the  makers  of  tools ;  the 
inventor  of  decimal  notation  ;  the  geometer ; 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  9 

the  engineer;  the  musician,  —  severally  make 
an  easy  way  for  all,  through  unknown  and  im 
possible  confusions.  Each  man  is  by  secret  lik 
ing  connected  with  some  district  of  nature, 
whose  agent  and  interpreter  he  is ;  as  Linnaeus, 
of  plants ;  Huber,  of  bees ;  Fries,  of  lichens  ; 
Van  Mons,  of  pears  ;  Dalton,  of  atomic  forms ; 
Euclid,  of  lines;  Newton,  of  fluxions. 

A  man  is  a  centre  for  nature,  running  out 
threads  of  relation  through  every  thing,  fluid 
and  solid,  material  and  elemental.  The  earth 
rolls ;  every  clod  and  stone  comes  to  the  me 
ridian  :  so  every  organ,  function,  acid,  crystal, 
grain  of  dust,  has  its  relation  to  the  brain.  It 
waits  long,  but  its  turn  comes.  Each  plant  has 
its  parasite,  and  each  created  thing  its  lover  and 
poet.  Justice  has  already  been  done  to  steam, 
to  iron,  to  wood,  to  coal,  to  loadstone,  to  iodine, 
to  corn  and  cotton ;  but  how  few  materials  are 
yet  used  by  our  arts  !  The  mass  of  creatures 
and  of  qualities  are  still  hid  and  expectant.1  It 
would  seem  as  if  each  waited,  like  the  enchanted 
princess  in  fairy  tales,  for  a  destined  human  de 
liverer.  Each  must  be  disenchanted  and  walk 
forth  to  the  day  in  human  shape.  In  the  his 
tory  of  discovery,  the  ripe  and  latent  truth 
seems  to  have  fashioned  a  brain  for  itself.2  A 


io  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

magnet  must  be  made  man  in  some  Gilbert, 
or  Swedenborg,  or  Oersted,  before  the  general 
mind  can  come  to  entertain  its  powers.1 

If  we  limit  ourselves  to  the  first  advantages, 
a  sober  grace  adheres  to  the  mineral  and  botanic 
kingdoms,  which,  in  the  highest  moments,  comes 
up  as  the  charm  of  nature,  —  the  glitter  of  the 
spar,  the  sureness  of  affinity,  the  veracity  of 
angles.  Light  and  darkness,  heat  and  cold, 
hunger  and  food,  sweet  and  sour,  solid,  liquid 
and  gas,  circle  us  round  in  a  wreath  of  plea 
sures,  and,  by  their  agreeable  quarrel,  beguile 
the  day  of  life.  The  eye  repeats  every  day  the 
first  eulogy  on  things,  —  "  He  saw  that  they 
were  good."  We  know  where  to  find  them  ; 
and  these  performers  are  relished  all  the  more, 
after  a  little  experience  of  the  pretending  races. 
We  are  entitled  also  to  higher  advantages. 
Something  is  wanting  to  science  until  it  has 
been  humanized.  The  table  of  logarithms  is 
one  thing,  and  its  vital  play  in  botany,  music, 
optics  and  architecture,  another.  There  are  ad 
vancements  to  numbers,  anatomy,  architecture, 
astronomy,  little  suspected  at  first,  when,  by 
union  with  intellect  and  will,  they  ascend  into 
the  life  and  reappear  in  conversation,  character 
and  politics.2 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  n 

But  this  comes  later.  We  speak  now  only  of 
our  acquaintance  with  them  in  their  own  sphere 
and  the  way  in  which  they  seem  to  fascinate  and 
draw  to  them  some  genius  who  occupies  himself 
with  one  thing,  all  his  life  long.  The  possibility 
of  interpretation  lies  in  the  identity  of  the  ob 
server  with  the  observed.1  Each  material  thing 
has  its  celestial  side  ;  has  its  translation,  through 
humanity,  into  the  spiritual  and  necessary  sphere 
where  it  plays  a  part  as  indestructible  as  any 
other.  And  to  these,  their  ends,  all  things  con 
tinually  ascend.  The  gases  gather  to  the  solid 
firmament :  the  chemic  lump  arrives  at  the 
plant,  and  grows ;  arrives  at  the  quadruped, 
and  walks ;  arrives  at  the  man,  and  thinks. 
But  also  the  constituency  determines  the  vote 
of  the  representative.  He  is  not  only  represen 
tative,  but  participant.  Like  can  only  be  known 
by  like.  The  reason  why  he  knows  about  them 
is  that  he  is  of  them  ;  he  has  just  come  out  of 
nature,  or  from  being  a  part  of  that  thing.2 
Animated  chlorine  knows  of  chlorine,  and  in 
carnate  zinc,  of  zinc.  Their  quality  makes  his 
career  ;  and  he  can  variously  publish  their  vir 
tues,  because  they  compose  him.  Man,  made 
of  the  dust  of  the  world,  does  not  forget  his 
origin  ;  and  all  that  is  yet  inanimate  will  one 


12  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

day  speak  and  reason.  Unpublished  nature  will 
have  its  whole  secret  told.  Shall  we  say  that 
quartz  mountains  will  pulverize  into  innumer 
able  Werners,  Von  Buchs  and  Beaumonts,  and 
the  laboratory  of  the  atmosphere  holds  in  solu 
tion  I  know  not  what  Berzeliuses  and  Davys  ? 
Thus  we  sit  by  the  fire  and  take  hold  on  the 
poles  of  the  earth.  This  quasi  omnipresence 
supplies  the  imbecility  of  our  condition.  In 
one  of  those  celestial  days  when  heaven  and 
earth  meet  and  adorn  each  other,  it  seems  a 
poverty  that  we  can  only  spend  it  once  :  we 
wish  for  a  thousand  heads,  a  thousand  bodies, 
that  we  might  celebrate  its  immense  beauty  in 
many  ways  and  places.  Is  this  fancy  ?  Well,  in 
good  faith,  we  are  multiplied  by  our  proxies. 
How  easily  we  adopt  their  labors  !  Every  ship 
that  comes  to  America  got  its  chart  from  Co 
lumbus.  Every  novel  is  a  debtor  to  Homer. 
Every  carpenter  who  shaves  with  a  fore-plane 
borrows  the  genius  of  a  forgotten  inventor. 
Life  is  girt  all  round  with  a  zodiac  of  sciences, 
the  contributions  of  men  who  have  perished  to 
add  their  point  of  light  to  our  sky.  Engineer, 
broker,  jurist,  physician,  moralist,  theologian, 
and  every  man,  inasmuch  as  he  has  any  science, 
—  is  a  definer  and  map-maker  of  the  latitudes 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  13 

and  longitudes  of  our  condition.  These  road- 
makers  on  every  hand  enrich  us.  We  must  ex 
tend  the  area  of  life  and  multiply  our  relations. 
We  are  as  much  gainers  by  finding  a  new  pro 
perty  in  the  old  earth  as  by  acquiring  a  new 
planet.1 

We  are  too  passive  in  the  reception  of  these 
material  or  semi-material  aids.  We  must  not  be 
sacks  and  stomachs.  To  ascend  one  step,  —  we 
are  better  served  through  our  sympathy.  Activ 
ity  is  contagious.  Looking  where  others  look, 
and  conversing  with  the  same  things,  we  catch 
the  charm  which  lured  them.  Napoleon  said, 
"  You  must  not  fight  too  often  with  one  enemy, 
or  you  will  teach  him  all  your  art  of  war."  Talk 
much  with  any  man  of  vigorous  mind,  and  we 
acquire  very  fast  the  habit  of  looking  at  things 
in  the  same  light,  and  on  each  occurrence  we 
anticipate  his  thought. 

Men  are  helpful  through  the  intellect  and  the 
affections.  Other  help  I  find  a  false  appearance. 
If  you  affect  to  give  me  bread  and  fire,  I  per 
ceive  that  I  pay  for  it  the  full  price,  and  at  last 
it  leaves  me  as  it  found  me,  neither  better  nor 
worse :  but  all  mental  and  moral  force  is  a  posi 
tive  good.  It  goes  out  from  you,  whether  you 
will  or  not,  and  profits  me  whom  you  never 


14  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

thought  of.1  I  cannot  even  hear  of  personal 
vigor  of  any  kind,  great  power  of  performance, 
without  fresh  resolution.  We  are  emulous  of 
all  that  man  can  do.  Cecil's  saying  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  "  I  know  that  he  can  toil  terribly,"  is 
an  electric  touch.  So  are  Clarendon's  portraits, 
—  of  Hampden,  "who  was  of  an  industry  and 
vigilance  not  to  be  tired  out  or  wearied  by  the 
most  laborious,  and  of  parts  not  to  be  imposed 
on  by  the  most  subtle  and  sharp,  and  of  a  per 
sonal  courage  equal  to  his  best  parts  ;  "  —  of 
Falkland,  "  who  was  so  severe  an  adorer  of  truth, 
that  he  could  as  easily  have  given  himself  leave 
to  steal,  as  to  dissemble."  We  cannot  read  Plu 
tarch  without  a  tingling  of  the  blood  ;  and  I 
accept  the  saying  of  the  Chinese  Mencius  :  "A 
sage  is  the  instructor  of  a  hundred  ages.  When 
the  manners  of  Loo  are  heard  of,  the  stupid 
become  intelligent,  and  the  wavering,  deter- 
mined." 

This  is  the  moral  of  biography  ;  yet  it  is  hard 
for  departed  men  to  touch  the  quick  like  our 
own  companions,  whose  names  may  not  last  as 
long.  What  is  he  whom  I  never  think  of? 
Whilst  in  every  solitude  are  those  who  succor 
our  genius  and  stimulate  us  in  wonderful  man 
ners.  There  is  a  power  in  love  to  divine  an- 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  15 

other's  destiny  better  than  that  other  can,  and, 
by  heroic  encouragements,  hold  him  to  his  task. 
What  has  friendship  so  signal  as  its  sublime 
attraction  to  whatever  virtue  is  in  us  ?  We  will 
never  more  think  cheaply  of  ourselves,  or  of 
life.1  We  are  piqued  to  some  purpose,  and  the 
industry  of  the  diggers  on  the  railroad  will  not 
again  shame  us.2 

Under  this  head  too  falls  that  homage,  very 
pure  as  I  think,  which  all  ranks  pay  to  the  hero 
of  the  day,  from  Coriolanus  and  Gracchus  down 
to  Pitt,  Lafayette,  Wellington,  Webster,  La- 
martine.  Hear  the  shouts  in  the  street  !  The 
people  cannot  see  him  enough.  They  delight 
in  a  man.  Here  is  a  head  and  a  trunk !  What 
a  front !  what  eyes  !  Atlantean  shoulders,  and 
the  whole  carriage  heroic,  with  equal  inward 
force  to  guide  the  great  machine  ! 3  This  plea 
sure  of  full  expression  to  that  which,  in  their 
private  experience,  is  usually  cramped  and  ob 
structed,  runs  also  much  higher,  and  is  the  secret 
of  the  reader's  joy  in  literary  genius.  Nothing 
is  kept  back.  There  is  fire  enough  to  fuse  the 
mountain  of  ore.  Shakspeare's  principal  merit 
may  be  conveyed  in  saying  that  he  of  all  men 
best  understands  the  English  language,  and  can 
say  what  he  will.  Yet  these  unchoked  channels 


16  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  floodgates  of  expression  are  only  health  or 
fortunate  constitution.  Shakspeare's  name  sug 
gests  other  and  purely  intellectual  benefits. 

Senates  and  sovereigns  have  no  compliment, 
with  their  medals,  swords  and  armorial  coats, 
like  the  addressing  to  a  human  being  thoughts 
out  of  a  certain  height,  and  presupposing  his 
intelligence.1  This  honor,  which  is  possible  in 
personal  intercourse  scarcely  twice  in  a  lifetime, 
genius  perpetually  pays ;  contented  if  now  and 
then  in  a  century  the  proffer  is  accepted.  The 
indicators  of  the  values  of  matter  are  degraded 
to  a  sort  of  cooks  and  confectioners,  on  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  indicators  of  ideas.  Genius  is 
the  naturalist  or  geographer  of  the  supersen 
sible  regions,  and  draws  their  map ;  and,  by 
acquainting  us  with  new  fields  of  activity,  cools 
our  affection  for  the  old.  These  are  at  once 
accepted  as  the  reality,  of  which  the  world  we 
have  conversed  with  is  the  show. 

We  go  to  the  gymnasium  and  the  swimming- 
school  to  see  the  power  and  beauty  of  the  body  ; 
there  is  the  like  pleasure  and  a  higher  benefit 
from  witnessing  intellectual  feats  of  all  kinds  ; 
as  feats  of  memory,  of  mathematical  combina 
tion,  great  power  of  abstraction,  the  transmut- 
ings  of  the  imagination,  even  versatility  and 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  17 

concentration,  —  as  these  acts  expose  the  in 
visible  organs  and  members  of  the  mind,  which 
respond,  member  for  member,  to  the  parts  of 
the  body.  For  we  thus  enter  a  new  gymna 
sium,  and  learn  to  choose  men  by  their  truest 
marks,  taught,  with  Plato,  "  to  choose  those 
who  can,  without  aid  from  the  eyes  or  any  other 
sense,  proceed  to  truth  and  to  being."  Foremost 
among  these  activities  are  the  summersaults, 
spells  and  resurrections  wrought  by  the  imagi 
nation.  When  this  wakes,  a  man  seems  to  mul 
tiply  ten  times  or  a  thousand  times  his  force.  It 
opens  the  delicious  sense  of  indeterminate  size 
and  inspires  an  audacious  mental  habit.  We  are 
as  elastic  as  the  gas  of  gunpowder,  and  a  sen 
tence  in  a  book,  or  a  word  dropped  in  conversa 
tion,  sets  free  our  fancy,  and  instantly  our  heads 
are  bathed  with  galaxies,  and  our  feet  tread  the 
floor  of  the  Pit.1  And  this  benefit  is  real  because 
we  are  entitled  to  these  enlargements,  and  once 
having  passed  the  bounds  shall  never  again  be 
quite  the  miserable  pedants  we  were. 

The  high  functions  of  the  intellect  are  so 
allied  that  some  imaginative  power  usually  ap 
pears  in  all  eminent  minds,  even  in  arithmeticians 
of  the  first  class,  but  especially  in  meditative 
men  of  an  intuitive  habit  of  thought.  This 


1 8  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

class  serve  us,  so  that  they  have  the  perception 
of  identity  and  the  perception  of  reaction.  The 
eyes  of  Plato,  Shakspeare,  Swedenborg,  Goethe, 
never  shut  on  either  of  these  laws.  The  per 
ception  of  these  laws  is  a  kind  of  metre  of  the 
mind.  Little,  minds  are  little  through  failure  to 
see  them. 

Even  these  feasts  have  their  surfeit.  Our  de 
light  in  reason  degenerates  into  idolatry  of  the 
herald.  Especially  when  a  mind  of  powerful 
method  has  instructed  men,  we  find  the  exam 
ples  of  oppression.  The  dominion  of  Aristotle, 
the  Ptolemaic  astronomy,  the  credit  of  Luther, 
of  Bacon,  of  Locke  ;  —  in  religion  the  history 
of  hierarchies,  of  saints,  and  the  sects  which 
have  taken  the  name  of  each  founder,  are  in 
point.  Alas  !  every  man  is  such  a  victim.  The 
imbecility  of  men  is  always  inviting  the  impu 
dence  of  power.  It  is  the  delight  of  vulgar  tal 
ent  to  dazzle  and  to  blind  the  beholder.  But 
true  genius  seeks  to  defend  us  from  itself.  True 
genius  will  not  impoverish,  but  will  liberate,  and 
add  new  senses.1  If  a  wise  man  should  appear 
in  our  village  he  would  create,  in  those  who 
conversed  with  him,  a  new  consciousness  of 
wealth,  by  opening  their  eyes  to  unobserved 
advantages  ;  he  would  establish  a  sense  of  im- 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  19 

movable  equality,  calm  us  with  assurances  that 
we  could  not  be  cheated ;  as  every  one  would 
discern  the  checks  and  guaranties  of  condition. 
The  rich  would  see  their  mistakes  and  poverty, 
the  poor  their  escapes  and  their  resources. 

But  nature  brings  all  this  about  in  due  time. 
Rotation  is  her  remedy.  The  soul  is  impatient 
of  masters  and  eager  for  change.  Housekeepers 
say  of  a  domestic  who  has  been  valuable,  "  She 
had  lived  with  me  long  enough."  We  are  ten 
dencies,  or  rather,  symptoms,  and  none  of  us 
complete.  We  touch  and  go,  and  sip  the  foam 
of  many  lives.  Rotation  is  the  law  of  nature. 
When  nature  removes  a  great  man,  people  ex 
plore  the  horizon  for  a  successor ;  but  none 
comes,  and  none  will.  His  class  is  extinguished 
with  him.  In  some  other  and  quite  different 
field  the  next  man  will  appear ;  not  Jefferson, 
not  Franklin,  but  now  a  great  salesman,  then 
a  road-contractor,  then  a  student  of  fishes,  then 
a  buffalo -hunting  explorer,  or  a  semi -savage 
Western  general.  Thus  we  make  a  stand  against 
our  rougher  masters  ;  but  against  the  best  there 
is  a  finer  remedy.  The  power  which  they  com 
municate  is  not  theirs.  When  we  are  exalted 
by  ideas,  we  do  not  owe  this  to  Plato,  but  to 
the  idea,  to  which  also  Plato  was  debtor.1 


20  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

I  must  not  forget  that  we  have  a  special  debt 
to  a  single  class.  Life  is  a  scale  of  degrees.  Be 
tween  rank  and  rank  of  our  great  men  are  wide 
intervals.  Mankind  have  in  all  ages  attached 
themselves  to  a  few  persons  who  either  by  the 
quality  of  that  idea  they  embodied  or  by  the 
largeness  of  their  reception  were  entitled  to 
the  position  of  leaders  and  law-givers.  These 
teach  us  the  qualities  of  primary  nature,  —  ad 
mit  us  to  the  constitution  of  things.  We  swim, 
day  by  day,  on  a  river  of  delusions  and  are 
effectually  amused  with  houses  and  towns  in 
the  air,  of  which  the  men  about  us  are  dupes. 
But  life  is  a  sincerity.  In  lucid  intervals  we  say, 
'  Let  there  be  an  entrance  opened  for  me  into 
realities  ; x  I  have  worn  the  fool's  cap  too  long.' 
We  will  know  the  meaning  of  our  economies 
and  politics.  Give  us  the  cipher,  and  if  persons 
and  things  are  scores  of  a  celestial  music,  let  us 
read  off  the  strains.  We  have  been  cheated  of 
our  reason  ;  yet  there  have  been  sane  men,  who 
enjoyed  a  rich  and  related  existence.  What  they 
know,  they  know  for  us.  With  each  new  mind, 
a  new  secret  of  nature  transpires ;  nor  can  the 
Bible  be  closed  until  the  last  great  man  is  born. 
These  men  correct  the  delirium  of  the  animal 
spirits,  make  us  considerate  and  engage  us  to 


'  USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  21 

new  aims  and  powers.  The  veneration  of  man 
kind  selects  these  for  the  highest  place.  Witness 
the  multitude  of  statues,  pictures  and  memorials 
which  recall  their  genius  in  every  city,  village, 
house  and  ship  :  — 

«'  Ever  their  phantoms  arise  before  us, 
Our  loftier  brothers,  but  one  in  blood; 
At  bed  and  table  they  lord  it  o'er  us 
With  looks  of  beauty  and  words  of  good."  * 

How  to  illustrate  the  distinctive  benefit  of 
ideas,  the  service  rendered  by  those  who  intro 
duce  moral  truths  into  the  general  mind  ?  —  I 
am  plagued,  in  all  my  living,  with  a  perpetual 
tariff  of  prices.  If  I  work  in  my  garden  and 
prune  an  apple-tree,  I  am  well  enough  enter 
tained,  and  could  continue  indefinitely  in  the 
like  occupation.  But  it  comes  to  mind  that  a 
day  is  gone,  and  I  have  got  this  precious  no 
thing  done.  I  go  to  Boston  or  New  York  and 
run  up  and  down  on  my  affairs :  they  are  sped, 
but  so  is  the  day.2  I  am  vexed  by  the  recollec 
tion  of  this  price  I  have  paid  for  a  trifling  ad 
vantage.  I  remember  the  peau  cCane  on  which 
whoso  sat  should  have  his  desire,  but  a  piece 
of  the  skin  was  gone  for  every  wish.3  I  go  to  a 
convention  of  philanthropists.  Do  what  I  can, 
I  cannot  keep  my  eyes  off  the  clock.  But  if 


22  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

there  should  appear  in  the  company  some  gentle 
soul  who  knows  little  of  persons  or  parties,  of 
Carolina  or  Cuba,  but  who  announces  a  law  that 
disposes  these  particulars,  and  so  certifies  me  of 
the  equity  which  checkmates  every  false  player, 
bankrupts  every  self-seeker,  and  apprises  me  of 
my  independence  on  any  conditions  of  country, 
or  time,  or  human  body,  —  that  man  liberates 
me ;  I  forget  the  clock.  I  pass  out  of  the  sore 
relation  to  persons.  I  am  healed  of  my  hurts. 
I  am  made  immortal  by  apprehending  my  pos 
session  of  incorruptible  goods.  Here  is  great 
competition  of  rich  and  poor.  We  live  in  a 
market,  where  is  only  so  much  wheat,  or  wool, 
or  land  ;  and  if  I  have  so  much  more,  every 
other  must  have  so  much  less.  I  seem  to  have 
no  good  without  breach  of  good  manners.  No 
body  is  glad  in  the  gladness  of  another,  and  our 
system  is  one  of  war,  of  an  injurious  superiority. 
Every  child  of  the  Saxon  race  is  educated  to 
wish  to  be  first.  It  is  our  system  ;  and  a  man 
comes  to  measure  his  greatness  by  the  regrets, 
envies  and  hatreds  of  his  competitors.  But  in 
these  new  fields  there  is  room  :  here  are  no  self- 
esteems,  no  exclusions. 

I  admire  great  men  of  all  classes,  those  who 
stand  for  facts,  and  for  thoughts  ;   I  like  rough 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  23 

and  smooth,  "  Scourges  of  God,"  and  "Darlings 
of  the  human  race."  I  like  the  first  Caesar ; ' 
and  Charles  V.,  of  Spain  ;  and  Charles  XII.,  of 
Sweden  ;  Richard  Plantagenet ;  and  Bonaparte, 
in  France.  I  applaud  a  sufficient  man,  an  officer 
equal  to  his  office  ;  captains,  ministers,  senators. 
I  like  a  master  standing  firm  on  legs  of  iron, 
well-born,  rich,  handsome,  eloquent,  loaded  with 
advantages,  drawing  all  men  by  fascination  into 
tributaries  and  supporters  of  his  power.2  Sword 
and  staff,  or  talents  sword-like  or  staff-like,  carry 
on  the  work  of  the  world.  But  I  find  him 
greater  when  he  can  abolish  himself  and  all  he- 

o 

roes,  by  letting  in  this  element  of  reason,  irre 
spective  of  persons,  this  subtilizer  and  irresist 
ible  upward  force,  into  our  thought,  destroying 
individualism  ;  the  power  so  great  that  the  po 
tentate  is  nothing.  Then  he  is  a  monarch  who 
gives  a  constitution  to  his  people  ;  a  pontiff  who 
preaches  the  equality  of  souls  and  releases  his 
servants  from  their  barbarous  homages;  an  em 
peror  who  can  spare  his  empire. 

But  I  intended  to  specify,  with  a  little  mi 
nuteness,  two  or  three  points  of  service.  Nature 
never  spares  the  opium  or  nepenthe,  but  wher 
ever  she  mars  her  creature  with  some  deformity 


24  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

or  defect,  lays  her  poppies  plentifully  on  the 
bruise,  and  the  sufferer  goes  joyfully  through 
life,  ignorant  of  the  ruin  and  incapable  of  seeing 
it,  though  all  the  world  point  their  finger  at  it 
every  day.  The  worthless  and  offensive  mem 
bers  of  society,  whose  existence  is  a  social  pest, 
invariably  think  themselves  the  most  ill-used 
people  alive,  and  never  get  over  their  astonish 
ment  at  the  ingratitude  and  selfishness  of  their 
contemporaries.  Our  globe  discovers  its  hidden 
virtues,  not  only  in  heroes  and  archangels,  but 
in  gossips  and  nurses.  Is  it  not  a  rare  contriv 
ance  that  lodged  the  due  inertia  in  every  crea 
ture,  the  conserving,  resisting  energy,  the  anger 
at  being  waked  or  changed  ?  Altogether  inde 
pendent  of  the  intellectual  force  in  each  is  the 
pride  of  opinion,  the  security  that  we  are  right. 
Not  the  feeblest  grandame,  not  a  mowing  idiot,1 
but  uses  what  spark  of  perception  and  faculty  is 
left,  to  chuckle  and  triumph  in  his  or  her  opin 
ion  over  the  absurdities  of  all  the  rest.  Differ 
ence  from  me  is  the  measure  of  absurdity.  Not 
one  has  a  misgiving  of  being  wrong.  Was  it 
not  a  bright  thought  that  made  things  cohere 
with  this  bitumen,  fastest  of  cements  ?  But,  in 
the  midst  of  this  chuckle  of  self-gratulation, 
some  figure  goes  by  which  Thersites  too  can 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  25 

love  and  admire.  This  is  he  that  should  mar 
shal  us  the  way  we  were  going.  There  is  no 
end  to  his  aid.  Without  Plato  we  should  al 
most  lose  our  faith  in  the  possibility  of  a  rea 
sonable  book.1  We  seem  to  want  but  one,  but 
we  want  one.  We  love  to  associate  with  heroic 
persons,  since  our  receptivity  is  unlimited  ;  and, 
with  the  great,  our  thoughts  and  manners  easily 
become  great.  We  are  all  wise  in  capacity, 
though  so  few  in  energy.  There  needs  but  one 
wise  man  in  a  company  and  all  are  wise,  so  rapid 
is  the  contagion. 

Great  men  are  thus  a  collyrium  to  clear  our 
eyes  from  egotism  and  enable  us  to  see  other 
people  and  their  works.3  But  there  are  vices 
and  follies  incident  to  whole  populations*  and 
ages.  Men  resemble  their  contemporaries  even 
more  than  their  progenitors.  It  is  observed  in 
old  couples,  or  in  persons  who  have  been  house 
mates  for  a  course  of  years,  that  they  grow  like, 
and  if  they  should  live  long  enough  we  should 
not  be  able  to  know  them  apart.  Nature  ab 
hors  these  complaisances  which  threaten  to  melt 
the  world  into  a  lump,  and  hastens  to  break  up 
such  maudlin  agglutinations.  The  like  assimi 
lation  goes  on  between  men  of  one  town,  of  one 
sect,  of  one  political  party  ;  and  the  ideas  of  the 


26  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

time  are  in  the  air,  and  infect  all  who  breathe  it. 
Viewed  from  any  high  point,  this  city  of  New 
York,  yonder  city  of  London,  the  Western  civili 
zation,  would  seem  a  bundle  of  insanities.  We 
keep  each  other  in  countenance  and  exasperate 
by  emulation  the  frenzy  of  the  time.  The  shield 
against  the  stingings  of  conscience  is  the  uni 
versal  practice,  or  our  contemporaries.  Again, 
it  is  very  easy  to  be  as  wise  and  good  as  your 
companions.  We  learn  of  our  contemporaries 
what  they  know  without  effort,  and  almost 
through  the  pores  of  the  skin.  We  catch  it  by 
sympathy,  or  as  a  wife  arrives  at  the  intellectual 
and  moral  elevations  of  her  husband.  But  we 
stop  where  they  stop.  Very  hardly  can  we  take 
another  step.  The  great,  or  such  as  hold  of  na 
ture  and  transcend  fashions  by  their  fidelity  to 
universal  ideas,  are  saviors  from  these  federal 
errors,  and  defend  us  from  our  contemporaries. 
They  are  the  exceptions  which  we  want,  where 
all  grows  like.  A  foreign  greatness  is  the  anti 
dote  for  cabalism. 

Thus  we  feed  on  genius,  and  refresh  ourselves 
from  too  much  conversation  with  our  mates, 
and  exult  in  the  depth  of  nature  in  that  direc 
tion  in  which  he  leads  us.  What  indemnification 
is  one  great  man  for  populations  of  pigmies  ! 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  27 

Every  mother  wishes  one  son  a  genius,  though 
all  the  rest  should  be  mediocre.  But  a  new 
danger  appears  in  the  excess  of  influence  of  the 
great  man.  His  attractions  warp  us  from  oui 
place.  We  have  become  underlings  and  intel 
lectual  suicides.  Ah  !  yonder  in  the  horizon  is 
our  help ;  —  other  great  men,  new  qualities, 
counterweights  and  checks  on  each  other.  We 
cloy  of  the  honey  of  each  peculiar  greatness. 
Every  hero  becomes  a  bore  at  last.  Perhaps 
Voltaire  was  not  bad-hearted,  yet  he  said  of  the 
good  Jesus,  even,  "  I  pray  you,  let  me  never 
hear  that  man's  name  again."  '  They  cry  up 
the  virtues  of  George  Washington,  —  "  Damn 
George  Washington  !  "  is  the  poor  Jacobin's 
whole  speech  and  confutation.  But  it  is  human 
nature's  indispensable  defence.  The  centripe- 
tence  augments  the  centrifugence.2  We  balance 
one  man  with  his  opposite,  and  the  health  of 
the  state  depends  on  the  see-saw. 

There  is  however  a  speedy  limit  to  the  use 
of  heroes.  Every  genius  is  defended  from  ap 
proach  by  quantities  of  unavailableness.  They 
are  very  attractive,  and  seem  at  a  distance  our 
own  :  but  we  are  hindered  on  all  sides  from  ap 
proach.  The  more  we  are  drawn,  the  more  we 
are  repelled.  There  is  something  not  solid  in 


28  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  good  that  is  done  for  us.  The  best  dis 
covery  the  discoverer  makes  for  himself.  It  has 
something  unreal  for  his  companion  until  he  too 
has  substantiated  it.  It  seems  as  if  the  Deity 
dressed  each  soul  which  he  sends  into  nature  in 
certain  virtues  and  powers  not  communicable  to 
other  men,  and  sending  it  to  perform  one  more 
turn  through  the  circle  of  beings,1  wrote,  "  Not 
transferable  "  and  "  Good  for  this  trip  only"  on 
these  garments  of  the  soul.  There  is  somewhat 
deceptive  about  the  intercourse  of  minds.  The 
boundaries  are  invisible,  but  they  are  never 
crossed.  There  is  such  good  will  to  impart, 
and  such  good  will  to  receive,  that  each  threatens 
to  become  the  other;  but  the  law  of  individ 
uality  collects  its  secret  strength:  you  are  you, 
and  I  am  I,  and  so  we  remain. 

For  nature  wishes  every  thing  to  remain  it 
self;  and  whilst  every  individual  strives  to  grow 
and  exclude  and  to  exclude  and  grow,  to  the 
extremities  of  the  universe,  and  to  impose  the 
law  of  its  being  on  every  other  creature,  Nature 
steadily  aims  to  protect  each  against  every  other. 
Each  is  self-defended.  Nothing  is  more  marked 
than  the  power  by  which  individuals  are  guarded 
from  individuals,  in  a  world  where  every  bene 
factor  becomes  so  easily  a  malefactor  only  by 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  29 

continuation  of  his  activity  into  places  where  it 
is  not  due;  where  children  seem  so  much  at  the 
mercy  of  their  foolish  parents,  and  where  almost 
all  men  are  too  social  and  interfering.  We 
rightly  speak  of  the  guardian  angels  of  children. 
How  superior  in  their  security  from  infusions 
of  evil  persons,  from  vulgarity  and  second 
thought !  They  shed  their  own  abundant  beauty 
on  the  objects  they  behold.  Therefore  they  are 
not  at  the  mercy  of  such  poor  educators  as  we 
adults.  If  we  huff  and  chide  them  they  soon 
come  not  to  mind  it  and  get  a  self-reliance  ;  and 
if  we  indulge  them  to  folly,  they  learn  the  limi 
tation  elsewhere. 

We  need  not  fear  excessive  influence.  A 
more  generous  trust  is  permitted.  Serve  the 
great.  Stick  at  no  humiliation.  Grudge  no  of 
fice  thou  canst  render.  Be  the  limb  of  their 
body,  the  breath  of  their  mouth.  Compromise 
thy  egotism.  Who  cares  for  that,  so  thou  gain 
aught  wider  and  nobler  ?  Never  mind  the  taunt 
of  Boswellism :  the  devotion  may  easily  be 
greater  than  the  wretched  pride  which  is  guard 
ing  its  own  skirts.  Be  another  :  not  thyself, 
but  a  Platonist ;  not  a  soul,  but  a  Christian ; 
not  a  naturalist,  but  a  Cartesian;  not  a  poet, 
but  a  Shaksperian.  In  vain,  the  wheels  of  ter 


30  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

dency  will  not  stop,  nor  will  all  the  forces  of 
inertia,  fear,  or  of  love  itself  hold  thee  there. 
On,  and  forever  onward  !  '  The  microscope 
observes  a  monad  or  wheel-insect  among  the 
infusories  circulating  in  water.  Presently  a  dot 
appears  on  the  animal,  which  enlarges  to  a  slit, 
and  it  becomes  two  perfect  animals.  The  ever- 
proceeding  detachment  appears  not  less  in  all 
thought  and  in  society.  Children  think  they 
cannot  live  without  their  parents.  But,  long 
before  they  are  aware  of  it,  the  black  dot  has 
appeared  and  the  detachment  taken  place.  Any 
accident  will  now  reveal  to  them  their  independ 
ence. 

But  great  men:  —  the  word  is  injurious.  Is 
there  caste?  is  there  fate  ?  What  becomes  of  the 
promise  to  virtue  ?  The  thoughtful  youth  la 
ments  the  superfoetation  of  nature.  '  Generous 
and  handsome,'  he  says,  c  is  your  hero ;  but 
look  at  yonder  poor  Paddy,  whose  country  is 
his  wheelbarrow  ;  look  at  his  whole  nation  of 
Paddies.'  Why  are  the  masses,  from  the  dawn 
of  history  down,  food  for  knives  and  powder  ? 
The  idea  dignifies  a  few  leaders,  who  have  sen 
timent,  opinion,  love,  self-devotion  ;  and  they 
make  war  and  death  sacred  ;  —  but  what  for  the 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  31 

wretches  whom  they  hire  and  kill  ?  The  cheap 
ness  of  man  is  every  day's  tragedy.  It  is  as 
real  a  loss  that  others  should  be  low  as  that  we 
should  be  low ;  for  we  must  have  society. 

Is  it  a  reply  to  these  suggestions  to  say,  So 
ciety  is  a  Pestalozzian  school:  all  are  teachers 
and  pupils  in  turn  ?  We  are  equally  served  by 
receiving  and  by  imparting.  Men  who  know 
the  same  things  are  not  long  the  best  company 
for  each  other.  But  bring  to  each  an  intelligent 
person  of  another  experience,  and  it  is  as  if  you 
let  off  water  from  a  lake  by  cutting  a  lower 
basin.  It  seems  a  mechanical  advantage,  and 
great  benefit  it  is  to  each  speaker,  as  he  can 
now  paint  out  his  thought  to  himself.  We  pass 
very  fast,  in  our  personal  moods,  from  dignity 
to  dependence.  And  if  any  appear  never  to  as 
sume  the  chair,  but  always  to  stand  and  serve, 
it  is  because  we  do  not  see  the  company  in  a 
sufficiently  long  period  for  the  whole  rotation 
of  parts  to  come  about.  As  to  what  we  call  the 
masses,  and  common  men,  —  there  are  no  com 
mon  men.  All  men  are  at  last  of  a  size  ;  and  true 
art  is  only  possible  on  the  conviction  that  every 
talent  has  its  apotheosis  somewhere.  Fair  play 
and  an  open  field  and  freshest  laurels  to  all  who 
have  won  them  !  But  heaven  reserves  an  equal 


32  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

scope  for  every  creature.  Each  is  uneasy  until 
he  has  produced  his  private  ray  unto  the  con 
cave  sphere  and  beheld  his  talent  also  in  its  last 
nobility  and  exaltation. 

The  heroes  of  the  hour  are  relatively  great ; 
of  a  faster  growth ;  or  they  are  such  in  whom, 
at  the  moment  of  success,  a  quality  is  ripe  which 
is  then  in  request.  Other  days  will  demand  other 
qualities.  Some  rays  escape  the  common  ob 
server,  and  want  a  finely  adapted  eye.  Ask  the 
great  man  if  there  be  none  greater.  His  com 
panions  are  ;  and  not  the  less  great  but  the 
more  that  society  cannot  see  them.  Nature 
never  sends  a  great  man  into  the  planet  with 
out  confiding  the  secret  to  another  soul. 

One  gracious  fact  emerges  from  these  studies, 
—  that  there  is  true  ascension  in  our  love.  The 
reputations  of  the  nineteenth  century  will  one 
day  be  quoted  to  prove  its  barbarism.  The 
genius  of  humanity  is  the  real  subject  whose 
biography  is  written  in  our  annals.  We  must 
infer  much,  and  supply  many  chasms  in  the 
record.  The  history  of  the  universe  is  symp 
tomatic,  and  life  is  mnemonical.  No  man,  in  all 
the  procession  of  famous  men,  is  reason  or  illu 
mination  or  that  essence  we  were  looking  for  ; 
but  is  an  exhibition,  in  some  quarter,  of  new 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  33 

possibilities.  Could  we  one  day  complete  the 
immense  figure  which  these  flagrant  points  com 
pose  !  x  The  study  of  many  individuals  leads  us 
to  an  elemental  region  wherein  the  individual 
is  lost,  or  wherein  all  touch  by  their  summits. 
Thought  and  feeling  that  break  out  there  can 
not  be  impounded  by  any  fence  of  personality. 
This  is  the  key  to  the  power  of  the  greatest 
men,  —  their  spirit  diffuses  itself.  A  new  qual 
ity  of  mind  travels  by  night  and  by  day,  in  con 
centric  circles  from  its  origin,  and  publishes 
itself  by  unknown  methods  :  the  union  of  all 
minds  appears  intimate  ;  what  gets  admission 
to  one,  cannot  be  kept  out  of  any  other ;  the 
smallest  acquisition  of  truth  or  of  energy,  in  any 
quarter,  is  so  much  good  to  the  commonwealth 
of  souls.  If  the  disparities  of  talent  and  posi 
tion  vanish  when  the  individuals  are  seen  in  the 
duration  which  is  necessary  to  complete  the 
career  of  each,2  even  more  swiftly  the  seeming 
injustice  disappears  when  we  ascend  to  the  cen 
tral  identity  of  all  the  individuals,  and  know 
that  they  are  made  of  the  substance  which  or- 
daineth  and  doeth. 

The  genius  of  humanity  is  the  right  point  of 
view  of  history.  The  qualities-abide;  the  men 
who  exhibit  them  have  now  more,  now  less,  and 


34  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

pass  away ;  the  qualities  remain  on  another 
brow.  No  experience  is  more  familiar.  Once 
you  saw  phoenixes  :  they  are  gone ;  the  world 
is  not  therefore  disenchanted.  The  vessels  on 
which  you  read  sacred  emblems  turn  out  to  be 
common  pottery  ;  but  the  sense  of  the  pictures 
is  sacred,  and  you  may  still  read  them  transferred 
to  the  walls  of  the  world.1  For  a  time  our 
teachers  serve  us  personally,  as  metres  or  mile 
stones  of  progress.  Once  they  were  angels  of 
knowledge  and  their  figures  touched  the  sky. 
Then  we  drew  near,  saw  their  means,  culture 
and  limits ;  and  they  yielded  their  place  to  other 
geniuses.  Happy,  if  a  few  names  remain  so 
high  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  read  them 
nearer,  and  age  and  comparison  have  not  robbed 
them  of  a  ray.  But  at  last  we  shall  cease  to 
look  in  men  for  completeness,  and  shall  content 
ourselves  with  their  social  and  delegated  quality. 
All  that  respects  the  individual  is  temporary 
and  prospective,  like  the  individual  himself,  who 
is  ascending  out  of  his  limits  into  a  catholic  ex 
istence.  We  have  never  come  at  the  true  and 
best  benefit  of  any  genius  so  long  as  we  believe 
him  an  original  force.  In  the  moment  when  he 
ceases  to  help  us  as  a  cause,  he  begins  to  help 
us  more  as  an  effect.  Then  he  appears  as  an 


USES  OF  GREAT  MEN  35 

exponent  of  a  vaster  mind  and  will.  The  opaque 
self  becomes  transparent  with  the  light  of  the 
First  Cause. 

Yet,  within  the  limits  of  human  education 
and  agency,  we  may  say  great  men  exist  that 
there  may  be  greater  men.  The  destiny  of  or 
ganized  nature  is  amelioration,  and  who  can  tell 
its  limits  ?  It  is  for  man  to  tame  the  chaos  ;  on 
every  side,  whilst  he  lives,  to  scatter  the  seeds 
of  science  and  of  song,  that  climate,  corn,  ani 
mals,  men,  may  be  milder,  and  the  germs  of 
love  and  benefit  may  be  multiplied.1 


II 

PLATO;  OR,  THE   PHILOSOPHER 


PLATO;    OR,   THE    PHI 
LOSOPHER 

AMONG  secular  books,  Plato  only  is  en 
titled  to  Omar's  fanatical  compliment  to 
the  Koran,  when  he  said,  "  Burn  the  libraries ; 
for  their  value  is  in  this  book." '  These  sen 
tences  contain  the  culture  of  nations;  these  are 
the  corner-stone  of  schools  ;  these  are  the  foun 
tain-head  of  literatures.2  A  discipline  it  is  in 
logic,  arithmetic,  taste,  symmetry,  poetry,  lan 
guage,  rhetoric,  ontology,  morals  or  practical 
wisdom.  There  was  never  such  range  of  specu 
lation.  Out  of  Plato  come  all  things  that  are 
still  written  and  debated  among  men  of  thought. 
Great  havoc  makes  he  among  our  originalities. 
We  have  reached  the  mountain  from  which  all 
these  drift  boulders  were  detached.3  The  Bible 
of  the  learned  for  twenty-two  hundred  years, 
every  brisk  young  man  who  says  in  succession 
fine  things  to  each  reluctant  generation, —  Boe- 
thius,  Rabelais,  Erasmus,  Bruno,  Locke,  Rous 
seau,  Alfieri,  Coleridge,  —  is  some  reader  of 
Plato,  translating  into  the  vernacular,  wittily, 
his  good  things.  Even  the  men  of  grander  pro- 


4o  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

portion  suffer  some  deduction  from  the  mis 
fortune  (shall  I  say?)  of  coming  after  this  ex 
hausting  generalizer.  St.  Augustine,  Coperni 
cus,  Newton,  Behmen,  Swedenborg,  Goethe,  are 
likewise  his  debtors  and  must  say  after  him. 
.  For  it  is  fair  to  credit  the  broadest  generalizer 
with  all  the  particulars  deducible  from  his  thesis. 
Plato  is  philosophy,  and  philosophy,  Plato, 
—  at  once  the  glory  and  the  shame  of  mankind, 
since  neither  Saxon  nor  Roman  have  availed  to 
add  any  idea  to  his  categories.  No  wife,  no 
children  had  he,  and  the  thinkers  of  all  civilized 
nations  are  his  posterity  and  are  tinged  with  his 
mind.  How  many  great  men  Nature  is  inces 
santly  sending  up  out  of  night,  to  be  his  men,  — 
Platonists  !  the  Alexandrians,  a  constellation  of 
genius  ;  the  Elizabethans,  not  less  ;  Sir  Thomas 
More,  Henry  More,  John  Hales,  John  Smith, 
Lord  Bacon,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Ralph  Cudworth, 
Sydenham,  Thomas  Taylor ;  Marcilius  Fici- 
nus  and  Picus  Mirandola.  Calvinism  is  in  his 
Phaedo  :  Christianity  is  in  it.  Mahometanism 
draws  all  its  philosophy,  in  its  hand-book  of 
morals,  the  Akhlak-y-Jalaly,1  from  him.  Mys 
ticism  finds  in  Plato  all  its  texts.  This  citizen 
of  a  town  in  Greece  is  no  villager  nor  patriot. 
An  Englishman  reads  and  says,  'how  English!' 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     41 

a  German,  —  'how  Teutonic!'  an  Italian, — 
*  how  Roman  and  how  Greek  ! '  As  they  say 
that  Helen  of  Argos  had  that  universal  beauty 
that  every  body  felt  related  to  her,  so  Plato 
seems  to  a  reader  in  New  England  an  American 
genius.  His  broad  humanity  transcends  all  sec 
tional  lines. 

This  range  of  Plato  instructs  us  what  to  think 
of  the  vexed  question  concerning  his  reputed 
works,  —  what  are  genuine,  what  spurious.  It 
is  singular  that  wherever  we  find  a  man  higher 
by  a  whole  head  than  any  of  his  contemporaries, 
it  is  sure  to  come  into  doubt  what  are  his  real 
works.  Thus  Homer,  Plato,  Raffaelle,  Shak- 
speare.  For  these  men  magnetize  their  contem 
poraries,  so  that  their  companions  can  do  for 
them  what  they  can  never  do  for  themselves ; 
and  the  great  man  does  thus  live  in  several 
bodies,  and  write,  or  paint  or  act,  by  many 
hands  ;  and  after  some  time  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
what  is  the  authentic  work  of  the  master  and  what 
is  only  of  his  school. 

Plato,  too,  like  every  great  man,  consumed 
his  own  times.  What  is  a  great  man  but  one  of 
great  affinities,  who  takes  up  into  himself  all 
arts,  sciences,  all  knowables,  as  his  food?  He 
can  spare  nothing ;  he  can  dispose  of  every  thing. 


42  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

What  is  not  good  for  virtue,  is  good  for  know 
ledge.  Hence  his  contemporaries  tax  him  with 
plagiarism.  But  the  inventor  only  knows  how 
to  borrow ;  and  society  is  glad  to  forget  the  in- 
numerable  laborers  who  ministered  to  this  archi 
tect,  and  reserves  all  its  gratitude  for  him. 
When  we  are  praising  Plato,  it  seems  we  are 
praising  quotations  from  Solon  and  Sophron 
and  Philolaus.  Be  it  so.  Every  book  is  a  quota 
tion  ;  and  every  house  is  a  quotation  out  of  all 
forests  and  mines  and  stone  quarries  ;  and  every 
man  is  a  quotation  from  all  his  ancestors.1  And 
this  grasping  inventor  puts  all  nations  under 
contribution. 

Plato  absorbed  the  learning  of  his  times,  — • 
Philolaus,  Timaeus,  Heraclitus,  Parmenides,  and 
what  else;  then  his  master,  Socrates;  and  find 
ing  himself  still  capable  of  a  larger  synthesis,  — 
beyond  all  example  then  or  since,  —  he  trav 
elled  into  Italy,  to  gain  what  Pythagoras  had 
for  him  ;  then  into  Egypt,  and  perhaps  still 
farther  East,  to  import  the  other  element,  which 
Europe  wanted,  into  the  European  mind.  This 
breadth  entitles  him  to  stand  as  the  representa 
tive  of  philosophy.  He  says,  in  the  Republic, 
"  Such  a  genius  as  philosophers  m-ust  of  neces 
sity  have,  is  wont  but  seldom  in  all  its  parts  to 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     43 

meet  in  one  man,  but  its  different  parts  gener 
ally  spring  up  in  different  persons."  Every  man 
who  would  do  anything  well,  must  come  to  it 
from  a  higher  ground.  A  philosopher  must  be 
more  than  a  philosopher.  Plato  is  clothed  with 
the  powers  of  a  poet,  stands  upon  the  highest 
place  of  the  poet,  and  (though  I  doubt  he  wanted 
the  decisive  gift  of  lyric  expression),  mainly  is 
not  a  poet  because  he  chose  to  use  the  poetic 
gift  to  an  ulterior  purpose.1 

Great  geniuses  have  the  shortest  biographies. 
Their  cousins  can  tell  you  nothing  about  them. 
They  lived  in  their  writings,  and  so  their  house 
and  street  life  was  trivial  and  commonplace.  If 
you  would  know  their  tastes  and  complexions, 
the  most  admiring  of  their  readers  most  resem 
bles  them.  Plato  especially  has  no  external  bio 
graphy.  If  he  had  lover,  wife,  or  children,  we 
hear  nothing  of  them.  He  ground  them  all  into 
paint.2  As  a  good  chimney  burns  its  smoke,  so 
a  philosopher  converts  the  value  of  all  his  for 
tunes  into  his  intellectual  performances. 

He  was  born  427  A.  c.,  about  the  time  of 
the  death  of  Pericles  ;  was  of  patrician  connec 
tion  in  his  times  and  city,  and  is  said  to  have  had 
an  early  inclination  for  war,  but,  in  his  twentieth 
year,  meeting  with  Socrates,  was  easily  dissuaded 


44  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

from  this  pursuit  and  remained  for  ten  years  his 
scholar,  until  the  death  of  Socrates.  He  then 
went  to  Megara,  accepted  the  invitations  of  Dion 
and  of  Dionysius  to  the  court  of  Sicily,  and 
went  thither  three  times,  though  very  capri 
ciously  treated.  He  travelled  into  Italy ;  then  into 
Egypt,  where  he  stayed  a  long  time ;  some  say 
three,  —  some  say  thirteen  years.  It  is  said  he 
went  farther,  into  Babylonia :  this  is  uncertain. 
Returning  to  Athens,  he  gave  lessons  in  the 
Academy  to  those  whom  his  fame  drew  thither ; 
and  died,  as  we  have  received  it,  in  the  act  of 
writing,  at  eighty-one  years. 

But  the  biography  of  Plato  is  interior.  We 
are  to  account  for  the  supreme  elevation  of  this 
man  in  the  intellectual  history  of  our  race,  — 
how  it  happens  that  in  proportion  to  the  culture 
of  men  they  become  his  scholars  ;  that,  as  our 
Jewish  Bible  has  implanted  itself  in  the  table- 
talk  and  household  life  of  every  man  and  woman 
in  the  European  and  American  nations,  so  the 
writings  of  Plato  have  preoccupied  every  school 
of  learning,  every  lover  of  thought,  every  church, 
every  poet,  —  making  it  impossible  to  think,  on 
certain  levels,  except  through  him.  He  stands 
between  the  truth  and  every  man's  mind,  and 
has  almost  impressed  language  and  the  primary 


PLATO  ;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     45 

forms  of  thought  with  his  name  and  seal.  I  am 
struck,  in  reading  him,  with  the  extreme  modern- 
ness  of  his  style  and  spirit.  Here  is  the  germ  of 
that  Europe  we  know  so  well,  in  its  long  history 
of  arts  and  arms ;  here  are  all  its  traits,  already 
discernible  in  the  mind  of  Plato,  —  and  in  none 
before  him.  It  has  spread  itself  since  into  a 
hundred  histories,  but  has  added  no  new  element. 
This  perpetual  modernness  is  the  measure  of 
merit  in  every  work  of  art ;  since  the  author 
of  it  was  not  misled  by  any  thing  short-lived  or 
local,  but  abode  by  real  and  abiding  traits.  How 
Plato  came  thus  to  be  Europe,  and  philosophy, 
and  almost  literature,  is  the  problem  for  us  to 
solve. 

This  could  not  have  happened  without  a 
sound,  sincere  and  catholic  man,  able  to  honor, 
at  the  same  time,  the  ideal,  or  laws  of  the  mind, 
and  fate,  or  the  order  of  nature.  The  first  period 
of  a  nation,  as  of  an  individual,  is  the  period  of 
unconscious  strength.  Children  cry,  scream  and 
stamp  with  fury,  unable  to  express  their  desires. 
As  soon  as  they  can  speak  and  tell  their  want 
and  the  reason  of  it,  they  become  gentle.  In  adult 
life,  whilst  the  perceptions  are  obtuse,  men  and 
women  talk  vehemently  and  superlatively,  blun 
der  and  quarrel :  their  manners  are  full  of  des- 


46  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

peration;  their  speech  is  full  of  oaths.  As  soon 
as,  with  culture,  things  have  cleared  up  a  little, 
and  they  see  them  no  longer  in  lumps  and 
masses  but  accurately  distributed,  they  desist 
from  that  weak  vehemence  and  explain  their 
meaning  in  detail.  If  the  tongue  had  not  been 
framed  for  articulation,  man  would  still  be  a 
beast  in  the  forest.  The  same  weakness  and 
want,  on  a  higher  plane,  occurs  daily  in  the 
education  of  ardent  young  men  and  women. 
*  Ah  !  you  don't  understand  me ;  I  have  never 
met  with  any  one  who  comprehends  me  : '  and 
they  sigh  and  weep,  write  verses  and  walk  alone, 
—  fault  of  power  to  express  their  precise  mean 
ing.  In  a  month  or  two,  through  the  favor  of 
their  good  genius,  they  meet  some  one  so  re 
lated  as  to  assist  their  volcanic  estate,  and,  good 
communication  being  once  established,  they  are 
thenceforward  good  citizens.  It  is  ever  thus. 
The  progress  is  to  accuracy,  to  skill,  to  truth, 
from  blind  force. 

There  is  a  moment  in  the  history  of  every  na 
tion,  when,  proceeding  out  of  this  brute  youth, 
the  perceptive  powers  reach  their  ripeness  and 
have  not  yet  become  microscopic :  so  that  man, 
at  that  instant,  extends  across  the  entire  scale, 
and,  with  his  feet  still  planted  on  the  immense 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER      47 

forces  of  night,  converses  by  his  eyes  and  brain 
with  solar  and  stellar  creation.  That  is  the  mo 
ment  of  adult  health,  the  culmination  of  power.1 

Such  is  the  history  of  Europe,  in  all  points  ; 
and  such  in  philosophy.  Its  early  records,  al 
most  perished,  are  of  the  immigrations  from 
Asia,  bringing  with  them  the  dreams  of  bar 
barians  ;  a  confusion  of  crude  notions  of  morals 
and  of  natural  philosophy,  gradually  subsiding 
through  the  partial  insight  of  single  teachers. 

Before  Pericles  came  the  Seven  Wise  Mas 
ters,  and  we  have  the  beginnings  of  geometry, 
metaphysics  and  ethics  :  then  the  partialists,  — 
deducing  the  origin  of  things  from  flux  or  water, 
or  from  air,  or  from  fire,  or  from  mind.  All 
mix  with  these  causes  mythologic  pictures.  At 
last  comes  Plato,  the  distributor,  who  needs  no 
barbaric  paint,  or  tattoo,  or  whooping ;  for  he 
can  define.  He  leaves  with  Asia  the  vast  and 
superlative  ;  he  is  the  arrival  of  accuracy  and  in 
telligence.  "  He  shall  be  as  a  god  to  me,  who 
can  rightly  divide  and  define." 

This  defining  is  philosophy.  Philosophy  is 
the  account  which  the  human  mind  gives  to  it 
self  of  the  constitution  of  the  world.  Two  car 
dinal  facts  lie  forever  at  the  base ;  the  one,  and 
the  two. —  i.  Unity,  or  Identity;  and,  2.  Va- 


48  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

riety.1  We  unite  all  things  by  perceiving  the 
law  which  pervades  them  ;  by  perceiving  the 
superficial  differences  and  the  profound  resem 
blances.  But  every  mental  act,  —  this  very  per 
ception  of  identity  or  oneness,  recognizes  the 
difference  of  things.  Oneness  and  otherness. 
It  is  impossible  to  speak  or  to  think  without 
embracing  both. 

The  mind  is  urged  to  ask  for  one  cause  of 
many  effects  ;  then  for  the  cause  of  that ;  and 
again  the  cause,  diving  still  into  the  profound  : 
self-assured  that  it  shall  arrive  at  an  absolute 
and  sufficient  one,  —  a  one  that  shall  be  all. 
"  In  the  midst  of  the  sun  is  the  light,  in  the 
midst  of  the  light  is  truth,  and  in  the  midst  of 
truth  is  the  imperishable  being,"  say  the  Vedas. 
All  philosophy,  of  East  and  West,  has  the  same 
centripetence.  Urged  by  an  opposite  necessity, 
the  mind  returns  from  the  one  to  that  which 
is  not  one,  but  other  or  many ;  from  cause  to 
effect ;  and  affirms  the  necessary  existence  of 
variety,  the  self-existence  of  both,  as  each  is 
involved  in  the  other.  These  strictly-blended 
elements  it  is  the  problem  of  thought  to  sepa 
rate  and  to  reconcile.  Their  existence  is  mu 
tually  contradictory  and  exclusive  ;  and  each  so 
fast  slides  into  the  other  that  we  can  never  say 


PLATO ;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER      49 

what  is  one,  and  what  it  is  not.  The  Proteus 
is  as  nimble  in  the  highest  as  in  the  lowest 
grounds  ;  when  we  contemplate  the  one,  the 
true,  the  good,  —  as  in  the  surfaces  and  ex 
tremities  of  matter. 

In  all  nations  there  are  minds  which  incline 
to  dwell  in  the  conception  of  the  fundamental 
Unity.  The  raptures  of  prayer  and  ecstasy  of 
devotion  lose  all  being  in  one  Being.  This 
tendency  "finds  its  highest  expression  in  the 
religious  writings  of  the  East,  and  chiefly  in 
the  Indian  Scriptures,  in  the  Vedas,  the  Bha- 
gavat  Geeta,  and  the  Vishnu  Purana.1  Those 
writings  contain  little  else  than  this  idea,  and 
they  rise  to  pure  and  sublime  strains  in  cele 
brating  it. 

The  Same,  the  Same :  friend  and  foe  are  of 
one  stuff;  the  ploughman,  the  plough  and  the 
furrow  are  of  one  stuff;  and  the  stuff  is  such 
and  so  much  that  the  variations  of  form  are  un 
important.2  "  You  are  fit "  (says  the  supreme 
Krishna  to  a  sage)  "  to  apprehend  that  you  are 
not  distinct  from  me.  That  which  I  am,  thou 
art,  and  that  also  is  this  world,  with  its  gods 
and  heroes  and  mankind.  Men  contemplate 
distinctions,  because  they  are  stupefied  with 
ignorance."  "  The  words  /  and  mine  consti- 


50  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

tute  ignorance.  What  is  the  great  end  of  all, 
you  shall  now  learn  from  me.  It  is  soul,  —  one 
in  all  bodies,  pervading,  uniform,  perfect,  pre 
eminent  over  nature,  exempt  from  birth,  growth 
and  decay,  omnipresent,  made  up  of  true  know 
ledge,  independent,  unconnected  with  unreali 
ties,  with  name,  species  and  the  rest,  in  time 
past,  present  and  to  come.  The  knowledge  that 
this  spirit,  which  is  essentially  one,  is  in  one's 
own  and  in  all  other  bodies,  is  the  wisdom  of 
one  who  knows  the  unity  of  things.  As  one 
diffusive  air,  passing  through  the  perforations 
of  a  flute,  is  distinguished  as  the  notes  of  a 
scale,  so  the  nature  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  single, 
though  its  forms  be  manifold,  arising  from  the 
consequences  of  acts.1  When  the  difference  of 
the  investing  form,  as  that  of  god  or  the  rest, 
is  destroyed,  there  is  no  distinction."  "  The 
whole  world  is  but  a  manifestation  of  Vishnu, 
who  is  identical  with  all  things,  and  is  to  be 
regarded  by  the  wise  as  not  differing  from,  but 
as  the  same  as  themselves.  I  neither  am  going 
nor  coming;  nor  is  my  dwelling  in  any  one 
place ;  nor  art  thou,  thou  ;  nor  are  others, 
others  ;  nor  am  I,  I."  As  if  he  had  said,  '  All 
is  for  the  soul,  and  the  soul  is  Vishnu ;  and 
animals  and  stars  are  transient  paintings ;  and 


PLATO  j  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER      51 

light  is  whitewash ;  and  durations  are  decep 
tive  ;  and  form  is  imprisonment ;  and  heaven 
itself  a  decoy.'  '  That  which  the  soul  seeks 
is  resolution  into  being  above  form,  out  of 
Tartarus  and  out  of  heaven,  —  liberation  from 
nature. 

If  speculation  tends  thus  to  a  terrific  unity, 
in  which  all  things  are  absorbed,  action  tends 
directly  backwards  to  diversity.  The  first  is 
the  course  or  gravitation  of  mind  ;  the  second 
is  the  power  of  nature.  Nature  is  the  mani 
fold.  The  unity  absorbs,  and  melts  or  reduces. 
Nature  opens  and  creates.  These  two  princi 
ples  reappear  and  interpenetrate  all  things,  all 
thought ;  the  one,  the  many.  One  is  being ; 
the  other,  intellect :  one  is  necessity ;  the  other, 
freedom :  one,  rest ;  the  other,  motion  :  one, 
power ;  the  other,  distribution  :  one,  strength  ; 
the  other,  pleasure :  one,  consciousness ;  the 
other,  definition  :  one,  genius  ;  the  other,  talent : 
one,  earnestness  ;  the  other,  knowledge  :  one, 
possession  ;  the  other,  trade  :  one,  caste ;  the 
other,  culture  :  one,  king ;  the  other,  demo 
cracy  :  and,  if  we  dare  carry  these  generalizations 
a  step  higher,  and  name  the  last  tendency  of 
both,  we  might  say,  that  the  end  of  the  one  is 
escape  from  organization,  —  pure  science  ;  and 


52  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  end  of  the  other  is  the  highest  instrumen 
tality,  or  use  of  means,  or  executive  deity. 

Each  student  adheres,  by  temperament  and 
by  habit,  to  the  first  or  to  the  second  of  these 
gods  of  the  mind.  By  religion,  he  tends  to 
unity  ;  by  intellect,  or  by  the  senses,  to  the 
many.  A  too  rapid  unification,  and  an  exces 
sive  appliance  to  parts  and  particulars,  are  the 
twin  dangers  of  speculation. 

To  this  partiality  the  history  of  nations  corre 
sponded.  The  country  of  unity,  of  immovable 
institutions,  the  seat  of  a  philosophy  delighting 
in  abstractions,  of  men  faithful  in  doctrine  and 
in  practice  to  the  idea  of  a  deaf,  unimplorable, 
immense  fate,  is  Asia ;  and  it  realizes  this  faith 
in  the  social  institution  of  caste.  On  the  other 
side,  the  genius  of  Europe  is  active  and  crea 
tive  :  it  resists  caste  by  culture  ;  its  philosophy 
was  a  discipline ;  it  is  a  land  of  arts,  inventions, 
trade,  freedom.  If  the  East  loved  infinity,  the 
West  delighted  in  boundaries. 

European  civility  is  the  triumph  of  talent,  the 
extension  of  system,  the  sharpened  understand 
ing,  adaptive  skill,  delight  in  forms,  delight  in 
manifestation,  in  comprehensible  results.  Peri 
cles,  Athens,  Greece,  had  been  working  in  this 
element  with  the  joy  of  genius  not  yet  chilled 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER      53 

by  any  foresight  of  the  detriment  of  an  excess. 
They  saw  before  them  no  sinister  political  econ 
omy;  no  ominous  Malthus ;  no  Paris  or  Lon 
don  ;  no  pitiless  subdivision  of  classes,  —  the 
doom  of  the  pin-makers,  the  doom  of  the  weav 
ers,  of  dressers,  of  stockingers,  of  carders,  of 
spinners,  of  colliers;  no  Ireland;  no  Indian 
caste,  superinduced  by  the  efforts  of  Europe  to 
throw  it  off.  The  understanding  was  in  its 
health  and  prime.  Art  was  in  its  splendid 
novelty.  They  cut  the  Pentelican  marble  as  if 
it  were  snow,  and  their  perfect  works  in  archi 
tecture  and  sculpture  seemed  things  of  course, 
not  more  difficult  than  the  completion  of  a  new 
ship  at  the  Medford  yards,  or  new  mills  at 
Lowell.  These  things  are  in  course,  and  may 
be  taken  for  granted.  The  Roman  legion,  By 
zantine  legislation,  English  trade,  the  saloons 
of  Versailles,  the  cafes  of  Paris,  the  steam-mill, 
steamboat,  steam-coach,  may  all  be  seen  in  per 
spective  ;  the  town-meeting,  the  ballot-box,  the 
newspaper  and  cheap  press. 

Meantime,  Plato,  in  Egypt  and  in  Eastern 
pilgrimages,  imbibed  the  idea  of  one  Deity,  in 
which  all  things  are  absorbed.  The  unity  of 
Asia  and  the  detail  of  Europe ;  the  infinitude 
of  the  Asiatic  soul  and  the  defining,  result-lov- 


54  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ing,  machine -making,  surface -seeking,  opera- 
going  Europe,  —  Plato  came  to  join,  and,  by 
contact,  to  enhance  the  energy  of  each.  The 
excellence  of  Europe  and  Asia  are  in  his  brain. 
Metaphysics  and  natural  philosophy  expressed 
the  genius  of  Europe  ;  he  substructs  the  reli 
gion  of  Asia,  as  the  base. 

In  short,  a  balanced  soul  was  born,  percep 
tive  of  the  two  elements.1  It  is  as  easy  to  be 
great  as  to  be  small.  The  reason  why  we  do 
not  at  once  believe  in  admirable  souls  is  because 
they  are  not  in  our  experience.  In  actual  life, 
they  are  so  rare  as  to  be  incredible ;  but  pri 
marily  there  is  not  only  no  presumption  against 
them,  but  the  strongest  presumption  in  favor 
of  their  appearance.  But  whether  voices  were 
heard  in  the  sky,  or  not ;  whether  his  mother 
or  his  father  dreamed  that  the  infant  man-child 
was  the  son  of  Apollo  ;  whether  a  swarm  of 
bees  settled  on  his  lips,  or  not ;  —  a  man  who 
could  see  two  sides  of  a  thing  was  born.  The 
wonderful  synthesis  so  familiar  in  nature;  the 
upper  and  the  under  side  of  the  medal  of  Jove  ; 
the  union  of  impossibilities,  which  reappears  in 
every  object;  its  real  and  its  ideal  power, — 
was  now  also  transferred  entire  to  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  man. 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER      55 

The  balanced  soul  came.  If  he  loved  abstract 
truth,  he  saved  himself  by  propounding  the  most 
popular  of  all  principles,  the  absolute  good,  which 
rules  rulers,  and  judges  the  judge.  If  he  made 
transcendental  distinctions,  he  fortified  himself 
by  drawing  all  his  illustrations  from  sources  dis 
dained  by  orators  and  polite  conversers ;  from 
mares  and  puppies ;  from  pitchers  and  soup- 
ladles  ;  from  cooks  and  criers ;  the  shops  of 
potters,  horse-doctors,  butchers  and  fishmongers. 
He  cannot  forgive  in  himself  a  partiality,  but 
is  resolved  that  the  two  poles  of  thought  shall 
appear  in  his  statement.  His  argument  and  his 
sentence  are  self-poised  and  spherical.  The  two 
poles  appear ;  yes,  and  become  two  hands,  to 
grasp  and  appropriate  their  own. 

Every  great  artist  has  been  such  by  synthesis. 
Our  strength  is  transitional,  alternating  ;  or,  shall 
I  say,  a  thread  of  two  strands.  The  sea-shore, 
sea  seen  from  shore,  shore  seen  from  sea ;  the 
taste  of  two  metals  in  contact ;  and  our  enlarged 
powers  at  the  approach  and  at  the  departure  of 
a  friend ;  the  experience  of  poetic  creativeness, 
which  is  not  found  in  staying  at  home,  nor  yet 
in  travelling,  but  in  transitions  from  one  to  the 
other,  which  must  therefore  be  adroitly  managed 
to  present  as  much  transitional  surface  as  pos- 


56  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

sible  ;  this  command  of  two  elements  must  ex 
plain  the  power  and  the  charm  of  Plato.  Art 
expresses  the  one  or  the  same  by  the  different. 
Thought  seeks  to  know  unity  in  unity ;  poetry 
to  show  it  by  variety  ;  that  is,  always  by  an  ob 
ject  or  symbol.  Plato  keeps  the  two  vases,  one 
of  aether  and  one  of  pigment,  at  his  side,  and  in 
variably  uses  both.  Things  added  to  things,  as 
statistics,  civil  history,  are  inventories.  Things 
used  as  language  are  inexhaustibly  attractive. 
Plato  turns  incessantly  the  obverse  and  the  re 
verse  of  the  medal  of  Jove. 

To  take  an  example:  —  The  physical  philoso 
phers  had  sketched  each  his  theory  of  the  world; 
the  theory  of  atoms,  of  fire,  of  flux,  of  spirit ; 
theories  mechanical  and  chemical  in  their  genius. 
Plato,  a  master  of  mathematics,  studious  of  all 
natural  laws  and  causes,  feels  these,  as  second 
causes,  to  be  no  theories  of  the  world  but  bare 
inventories  and  lists.  To  the  study  of  nature  he 
therefore  prefixes  the  dogma,  — "  Let  us  declare 
the  cause  which  led  the  Supreme  Ordainer  to 
produce  and  compose  the  universe.  He  was 
good  ;  and  he  who  is  good  has  no  kind  of  envy  c 
Exempt  from  envy,  he  wished  that  all  things 
should  be  as  much  as  possible  like  himself. 
Whosoever,  taught  by  wise  men,  shall  admit 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     57 

this  as  the  prime  cause  of  the  origin  and  founda 
tion  of  the  world,  will  be  in  the  truth."  '  "All 
things  are  for  the  sake  of  the  good,  and  it  is  the 

O  O  * 

cause  of  every  thing  beautiful."  This  dogma 
animates  and  impersonates  his  philosophy. 

The  synthesis  which  makes  the  character  of 
his  mind  appears  in  all  his  talents.  Where  there 
is  great  compass  of  wit,  we  usually  find  excellen 
cies  that  combine  easily  in  the  living  man,  but  in 
description  appear  incompatible.  The  mind  of 
Plato  is  not  to  be  exhibited  by  a  Chinese  cata 
logue,  but  is  to  be  apprehended  by  an  original 
mind  in  the  exercise  of  its  original  power.  In 
him  the  freest  abandonment  is  united  with  the 
precision  of  a  geometer.  His  daring  imagination 
gives  him  the  more  solid  grasp  of  facts ;  as  the 
birds  of  highest  flight  have  the  strongest  alar 
bones.  His  patrician  polish,  his  intrinsic  ele 
gance,  edged  by  an  irony  so  subtle  that  it  stings 
and  paralyzes,  adorn  the  soundest  health  and 
strength  of  frame.  According  to  the  old  sen 
tence,  "If  Jove  should  descend  to  the  earth,  he 
would  speak  in  the  style  of  Plato." 

With  this  palatial  air  there  is,  for  the  direct 
aim  of  several  of  his  works  and  running  through 
the  tenor  of  them  all,  a  certain  earnestness,  which 
mounts,  in  the  Republic  and  in  the  Phaedo,  to 


58  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

piety.  He  has  been  charged  with  feigning  sick 
ness  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  Socrates.  But 
the  anecdotes  that  have  come  down  from  the 
times  attest  his  manly  interference  before  the  peo 
ple  in  his  master's  behalf,  since  even  the  savage 
cry  of  the  assembly  to  Plato  is  preserved ;  and 
the  indignation  towards  popular  government,  in 
many  of  his  pieces,  expresses  a  personal  exas 
peration.  He  has  a  probity,  a  native  reverence 
for  justice  and  honor,  and  a  humanity  which 
makes  him  tender  for  the  superstitions  of  the 
people.  Add  to  this,  he  believes  that  poetry, 
prophecy  and  the  high  insight  are  from  a  wis 
dom  of  which  man  is  not  master;  that  the  gods 
never  philosophize,  but  by  a  celestial  mania 
these  miracles  are  accomplished.1  Horsed  on 
these  winged  steeds,  he  sweeps  the  dim  regions, 
visits  worlds  which  flesh  cannot  enter ;  he  saw 
the  souls  in  pain,  he  hears  the  doom  of  the  judge, 
he  beholds  the  penal  metempsychosis,  the  Fates, 
with  the  rock  and  shears,  and  hears  the  intoxi 
cating  hum  of  their  spindle. 

But  his  circumspection  never  forsook  him. 
One  would  say  he  had  read  the  inscription  on 
the  gates  of  Busyrane, —  "  Be  bold  ;  "  and  on 
the  second  gate,  — "  Be  bold,  be  bold,  and 
evermore  be  bold;  "  2  and  then  again  had  paused 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     59 

well  at  the  third  gate, —  "Be  not  too  bold." 
His  strength  is  like  the  momentum  of  a  falling 
planet,  and  his  discretion  the  return  of  its  due 
and  perfect  curve,  —  so  excellent  is  his  Greek 
love  of  boundary  and  his  skill  in  definition.  In 
reading  logarithms  one  is  not  more  secure  than 
in  following  Plato  in  his  flights.  Nothing  can 
be  colder  than  his  head,  when  the  lightnings 
of  his  imagination  are  playing  in  the  sky.  He 
has  finished  his  thinking  before  he  brings  it  to 
the  reader,  and  he  abounds  in  the  surprises  of 
a  literary  master.  He  has  that  opulence  which 
furnishes,  at  every  turn,  the  precise  weapon  he 
needs.  As  the  rich  man  wears  no  more  gar 
ments,  drives  no  more  horses,  sits  in  no  more 
chambers  than  the  poor, — but  has  that  one 
dress,  or  equipage,  or  instrument,  which  is  fit 
for  the  hour  and  the  need ;  so  Plato,  in  his 
plenty,  is  never  restricted,  but  has  the  fit  word. 
There  is  indeed  no  weapon  in  all  the  armory 
of  wit  which  he  did  not  possess  and  use,  — 
epic,  analysis,  mania,  intuition,  music,  satire  and 
irony,  down  to  the  customary  and  polite.  His 
illustrations  are  poetry  and  his  jests  illustrations. 
Socrates'  profession  of  obstetric  art  is  good  phi 
losophy  ; '  and  his  finding  that  word  "  cookery," 
and  "  adulatory  art,"  for  rhetoric,  in  the  Gorgias, 


60  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

does  us  a  substantial  service  still.  No  orator  can 
measure  in  effect  with  him  who  can  give  good 
nicknames. 

What  moderation  and  understatement  and 
checking  his  thunder  in  mid  volley  !  He  has 
good-naturedly  furnished  the  courtier  and  citi 
zen  with  all  that  can  be  said  against  the  schools. 
"  For  philosophy  is  an  elegant  thing,  if  any  one 
modestly  meddles  with  it ;  but  if  he  is  con 
versant  with  it  more  than  is  becoming,  it  cor 
rupts  the  man."  He  could  well  afford  to  be 
generous,  —  he,  who  from  the  sunlike  central- 
ity  and  reach  of  his  vision,  had  a  faith  without 
cloud.  Such  as  his  perception,  was  his  speech : 
he  plays  with  the  doubt  and  makes  the  most' 
of  it :  he  paints  and  quibbles  ;  and  by  and  by 
comes  a  sentence  that  moves  the  sea  and  land. 
The  admirable  earnest  comes  not  only  at  inter 
vals,  in  the  perfect  yes  and  no  of  the  dialogue, 
but  in  bursts  of  light.  "  I,  therefore,  Callicles, 
am  persuaded  by  these  accounts,  and  consider 
how  I  may  exhibit  my  soul  before  the  judge  in 
a  healthy  condition.  Wherefore,  disregarding 
the  honors  that  most  men  value,  and  looking 
to  the  truth,  I  shall  endeavor  in  reality  to  live 
as  virtuously  as  I  can ;  and  when  I  die,  to  die 
so.  And  I  invite  all  other  men,  to  the  utmost 


PLATO  i  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     61 

of  my  power  ;  and  you  too  I  in  turn  invite  to 
this  contest,  which,  I  affirm,  surpasses  all  con 
tests  here."  r 

He  is  a  great  average  man ;  one  who,  to  the 
best  thinking,  adds  a  proportion  and  equality 
in  his  faculties,  so  that  men  see  in  him  their 
own  dreams  and  glimpses  made  available  and 
made  to  pass  for  what  they  are.  A  great  com 
mon-sense  is  his  warrant  and  qualification  to  be 
the  world's  interpreter.  He  has  reason,  as  all 
the  philosophic  and  poetic  class  have :  but  he 
has  also  what  they  have  not, — this  strong  solv 
ing  sense  to  reconcile  his  poetry  with  the  ap 
pearances  of  the  world,  and  build  a  bridge  from 
the  streets  of  cities  to  the  Atlantis.  He  omits 
never  this  graduation,  but  slopes  his  thought, 
however  picturesque  the  precipice  on  one  side, 
to  an  access  from  the  plain.  He  never  writes 
in  ecstasy,  or  catches  us  up  into  poetic  raptures. 

Plato  apprehended  the  cardinal  facts.  He 
could  prostrate  himself  on  the  earth  and  cover 
his  eyes  whilst  he  adored  that  which  cannot  be 
numbered,  or  gauged,  or  known,  or  named: 
that  of  which  every  thing  can  be  affirmed  and 
denied  :  that  "which  is  entity  and  nonentity."2 
He  called  it  super-essential.  He  even  stood 


62  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ready,  as  in  the  Parmenides,  to  demonstrate 
that  it  was  so, — that  this  Being  exceeded  the 
limits  of  intellect.  No  man  ever  more  fully 
acknowledged  the  Ineffable. '  Having  paid  his 
homage,  as  for  the  human  race,  to  the  Illimit 
able,  he  then  stood  erect,  and  for  the  human 
race  affirmed,  '  And  yet  things  are  knowable  !  ' 
—  that  is,  the  Asia  in  his  mind  was  first  heartily 
honored,  —  the  ocean  of  love  and  power,  be 
fore  form,  before  will,  before  knowledge,  the 
Same,  the  Good,  the  One;  and  now,  refreshed 
and  empowered  by  this  worship,  the  instinct  of 
Europe,  namely,  culture,  returns  ;  and  he  cries, 
*  Yet  things  are  knowable  !  '  They  are  know- 
able,  because  being  from  one,  things  correspond. 
There  is  a  scale ;  and  the  correspondence  of 
heaven  to  earth,  of  matter  to  mind,  of  the  part 
to  the  whole,  is  our  guide.  As  there  is  a  science 
of  stars,  called  astronomy  ;  a  science  of  quan 
tities,  called  mathematics  ;  a  science  of  quali 
ties,  called  chemistry  ;  so  there  is  a  science  of 
sciences,  —  I  call  it  Dialectic,  —  which  is  the 
Intellect  discriminating  the  false  and  the  true. 
It  rests  on  the  observation  of  identity  and  di 
versity  ;  for  to  judge  is  to  unite  to  an  object 
the  notion  which  belongs  to  it.  The  sciences, 
even  the  best,  —  mathematics  and  astronomy, 


PLATO  ;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     63 

—  are  like  sportsmen,  who  seize  whatever  prey 
offers,  even  without  being  able  to  make  any  use 
of  it.  Dialectic  must  teach  the  use  of  them. 
"  This  is  of  that  rank  that  no  intellectual  man 
will  enter  on  any  study  for  its  own  sake,  but 
only  with  a  view  to  advance  himself  in  that  one 
sole  science  which  embraces  all." ' 

"  The  essence  or  peculiarity  of  man  is  to 
comprehend  a  whole ;  or  that  which  in  the  di 
versity  of  sensations  can  be  comprised  under  a 
rational  unity."  "  The  soul  which  has  never 
perceived  the  truth,  cannot  pass  into  the  human 
form."2  I  announce  to  men  the  Intellect.  I  an 
nounce  the  good  of  being  interpenetrated  by  the 
mind  that  made  nature :  this  benefit,  namely, 
that  it  can  understand  nature,  which  it  made 
and  maketh.  Nature  is  good,  but  intellect  is 
better :  as  the  law-giver  is  before  the  law-re 
ceiver.  I  give  you  joy,  O  sons  of  men  !  that 
truth  is  altogether  wholesome  ;  that  we  have 
hope  to  search  out  what  might  be  the  very  self 
of  everything.  The  misery  of  man  is  to  be 
baulked  of  the  sight  of  essence  and  to  be  stuffed 
with  conjectures;  but  the  supreme  good  is  real 
ity  ;  the  supreme  beauty  is  reality ;  and  all  vir 
tue  and  all  felicity  depend  on  this  science  of  the 
real:  for  courage  is  nothing  else  than  know 


64  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ledge ;  the  fairest  fortune  that  can  befall  man  is 
to  be  guided  by  his  daemon  to  that  which  is 
truly  his  own.  This  also  is  the  essence  of  jus 
tice, —  to  attend  every  one  his  own:  nay,  the 
notion  of  virtue  is  not  to  be  arrived  at  except 
through  direct  contemplation  of  the  divine  es 
sence.  Courage  then  !  for  "  the  persuasion  that 
we  must  search  that  which  we  do  not  know, 
will  render  us,  beyond  comparison,  better,  braver 
and  more  industrious  than  if  we  thought  it  im- 

O 

possible  to  discover  what  we  do  not  know,  and 
useless  to  search  for  it."  He  secures  a  position 
not  to  be  commanded,  by  his  passion  for  real 
ity  ;  valuing  philosophy  only  as  it  is  the  plea 
sure  of  conversing  with  real  being. 

Thus,  full  of  the  genius  of  Europe,  he  said, 
Culture.  He  saw  the  institutions  of  Sparta  and 
recognized,  more  genially  one  would  say  than 
any  since,  the  hope  of  education.  He  delighted 
in  every  accomplishment,  in  every  graceful  and 
useful  and  truthful  performance ;  above  all  in 
the  splendors  of  genius  and  intellectual  achieve 
ment.  "  The  whole  of  life,  O  Socrates,"  said 
Glauco,  "  is,  with  the  wise,  the  measure  of  hear 
ing  such  discourses  as  these."  What  a  price  he 
sets  on  the  feats  of  talent,  on  the  powers  of 
Pericles,  of  Isocrates,  of  Parmenides !  What 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     65 

price  above  price  on  the  talents  themselves ! 
He  called  the  several  faculties,  gods,  in  his 
beautiful  personation.  What  value  he  gives  to 
the  art  of  gymnastic  in  education;  what  to  geo 
metry  ; '  what  to  music  ;  what  to  astronomy, 
whose  appeasing  and  medicinal  power  he  cele 
brates  !  In  the  Timaeus  he  indicates  the  highest 
employment  of  the  eyes.  "  By  us  it  is  asserted 
that  God  invented  and  bestowed  sight  on  us  for 
this  purpose,  —  that  on  surveying  the  circles  of 
intelligence  in  the  heavens,  we  might  properly 
employ  those  of  our  own  minds,  which,  though 
disturbed  when  compared  with  the  others  that 
are  uniform,  are  still  allied  to  their  circulations  ; 
and  that  having  thus  learned,  and  being  natu 
rally  possessed  of  a  correct  reasoning  faculty, 
we  might,  by  imitating  the  uniform  revolutions 
of  divinity,  set  right  our  own  wanderings  and 
blunders."  And  in  the  Republic,  —  "By  each 
of  these  disciplines  a  certain  organ  of  the  soul 
is  both  purified  and  reanimated  which  is  blinded 
and  buried  by  studies  of  another  kind ;  an  or 
gan  better  worth  saving  than  ten  thousand  eyes, 
since  truth  is  perceived  by  this  alone." 

He  said,  Culture  ;  but  he  first  admitted  its 
basis,  and  gave  immeasurably  the  first  place  to 
advantages  of  nature.  His  patrician  tastes  laid 


66  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

stress  on  the  distinctions  of  birth.  In  the  doc 
trine  of  the  organic  character  and  disposition  is 
the  origin  of  caste.  "  Such  as  were  fit  to  gov 
ern,  into  their  composition  the  informing  Deity 
mingled  gold ;  into  the  military,  silver ;  iron 
and  brass  for  husbandmen  and  artificers."  The 
East  confirms  itself,  in  all  ages,  in  this  faith. 
The  Koran  is  explicit  on  this  point  of  caste. 
"  Men  have  their  metal,  as  of  gold  and  silver. 
Those  of  you  who  were  the  worthy  ones  in  the 
state  of  ignorance,  will  be  the  worthy  ones  in 
the  state  of  faith,  as  soon  as  you  embrace  it." 
Plato  was  not  less  firm.  "  Of  the  five  orders 
of  things,  only  four  can  be  taught  to  the  gener 
ality  of  men."  In  the  Republic  he  insists  on 
the  temperaments  of  the  youth,1  as  first  of  the 
first. 

A  happier  example  of  the  stress  laid  on  na 
ture  is  in  the  dialogue  with  the  young  Theages, 
who  wishes  to  receive  lessons  from  Socrates. 
Socrates  declares  that  if  some  have  grown  wise 
by  associating  with  him,  no  thanks  are  due  to 
him  ;  but,  simply,  whilst  they  were  with  him 
they  grew  wise,  not  because  of  him ;  he  pre 
tends  not  to  know  the  way  of  it.  "  It  is  adverse 
to  many,  nor  can  those  be  benefited  by  associat 
ing  with  me  whom  the  Daemon  opposes  ;  so 


PLATO  ;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     67 

that  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to  live  with  these. 
With  many  however  he  does  not  prevent  me 
from  conversing,  who  yet  are  not  at  all  benefited 
by  associating  with  me.  Such,  O  Theages,  is 
the  association  with  me  ;  for,  if  it  pleases  the 
God,  you  will  make  great  and  rapid  proficiency  : 
you  will  not,  if  he  does  not  please.  Judge 
whether  it  is  not  safer  to  be  instructed  by  some 
one  of  those  who  have  power  over  the  benefit 
which  they  impart  to  men,  than  by  me,  who 
benefit  or  not,  just  as  it  may  happen."  As  if 
he  had  said,  '  I  have  no  system.  I  cannot  be 
answerable  for  you.  You  will  be  what  you  must. 
If  there  is  love  between  us,  inconceivably  deli 
cious  and  profitable  will  our  intercourse  be  ;  if 
not,  your  time  is  lost  and  you  will  only  annoy 
me.  I  shall  seem  to  you  stupid,  and  the  repu 
tation  I  have,  false.  Quite  above  us,  beyond 
the  will  of  you  or  me,  is  this  secret  affinity  or 
repulsion  laid.  All  my  good  is  magnetic,  and 
I  educate,  not  by  lessons,  but  by  going  about 
my  business.' 

He  said,  Culture ;  he  said,  Nature ;  and  he 
failed  not  to  add,  c  There  is  also  the  divine.' 
There  is  no  thought  in  any  mind  but  it  quickly 
tends  to  convert  itself  into  a  power  and  organ 
izes  a  huge  instrumentality  of  means.  Plato, 


68  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

lover  of  limits,  loved  the  illimitable,  saw  the  en 
largement  and  nobility  which  come  from  truth 
itself  and  good  itself,  and  attempted  as  if  on  the 
part  of  the  human  intellect,  once  for  all  to  do  it 
adequate  homage,  —  homage  fit  for  the  immense 
soul  to  receive,  and  yet  homage  becoming  the  in 
tellect  to  render.  He  said  then,  *  Our  faculties 
run  out  into  infinity,  and  return  to  us  thence. 
We  can  define  but  a  little  way ;  but  here  is  a  fact 
which  will  not  be  skipped,  and  which  to  shut  our 
eyes  upon  is  suicide.  All  things  are  in  a  scale  ; 
and,  begin  where  we  will,  ascend  and  ascend. 
All  things  are  symbolical ; '  and  what  we  call 
results  are  beginnings.' 

A  key  to  the  method  and  completeness  of 
Plato  is  his  twice  bisected  line.  After  he  has  il 
lustrated  the  relation  between  the  absolute  good 
and  true  and  the  forms  of  the  intelligible  world, 
he  says  :  "  Let  there  be  a  line  cut  in  two  un 
equal  parts.  Cut  again  each  of  these  two  main 
parts,  —  one  representing  the  visible,  the  other 
the  intelligible  world, —  and  let  these  two  new 
sections  represent  the  bright  part  and  the  dark 
part  of  each  of  these  worlds.  You  will  have,  for 
one  of  the  sections  of  the  visible  world,  images, 
that  is,  both  shadows  and  reflections  ;  —  for  the 
other  section,  the  objects  of  these  images,  that  is, 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     69 

plants,  animals,  and  the  works  of  art  and  nature. 
Then  divide  the  intelligible  world  in  like  man 
ner  ;  the  one  section  will  be  of  opinions  and  hy 
potheses,  and  the  other  section  of  truths."  l  To 
these  four  sections,  the  four  operations  of  the 
soul  correspond, —  conjecture,  faith, understand 
ing,  reason.  As  every  pool  reflects  the  image  of 
the  sun,  so  every  thought  and  thing  restores  us 
an  image  and  creature  of  the  supreme  Good. 
The  universe  is  perforated  by  a  million  channels 
for  his  activity.  All  things  mount  and  mount. 
All  his  thought  has  this  ascension;  in  Phae- 
drus,  teaching  that  beauty  is  the  most  lovely  of 
all  things,  exciting  hilarity  and  shedding  desire 
and  confidence  through  the  universe  wherever 
it  enters,  and  it  enters  in  some  degree  into  all 
things  :  —  but  that  there  is  another,  which  is  as 
much  more  beautiful  than  beauty  as  beauty  is 
than  chaos  ;  namely,  wisdom,  which  our  wonder 
ful  organ  of  sight  cannot  reach  unto,  but  which, 
could  it  be  seen,  would  ravish  us  with  its  per 
fect  reality.2  He  has  the  same  regard  to  it  as  the 
source  of  excellence  in  works  of  art.  When  an 
artificer,  he  says,  in  the  fabrication  of  any  work, 
looks  to  that  which  always  subsists  according  to 
the  same  ;  and,  employing  a  model  of  this  kind, 
expresses  its  idea  and  power  in  his  work,  —  it 


70  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

must  follow  that  his  production  should  be  beau 
tiful.  But  when  he  beholds  that  which  is  born 
and  dies,  it  will  be  far  from  beautiful. 

Thus  ever:  the  Banquet  is  a  teaching  in  the 
same  spirit,  familiar  now  to  all  the  poetry  and  to 
all  the  sermons  of  the  world,  that  the  love  of 
the  sexes  is  initial,  and  symbolizes  at  a  distance 
the  passion  of  the  soul  for  that  immense  lake 
of  beauty  it  exists  to  seek.1  This  faith  in  the 
Divinity  is  never  out  of  mind,  and  constitutes 
the  ground  of  all  his  dogmas.  Body  cannot  teach 
wisdom  ;  —  God  only.  In  the  same  mind  he 
constantly  affirms  that  virtue  cannot  be  taught ; 
that  it  is  not  a  science,  but  an  inspiration ;  that 
the  greatest  goods  are  produced  to  us  through 
mania  and  are  assigned  to  us  by  a  divine  gift. 

This  leads  me  to  that  central  figure  which  he 
has  established  in  his  Academy  as  the  organ 
through  which  every  considered  opinion  shall 
be  announced,  and  whose  biography  he  has  like 
wise  so  labored  that  the  historic  facts  are  lost  in 
the  light  of  Plato's  mind.  Socrates  and  Plato  are 
the  double  star  which  the  most  powerful  instru 
ments  will  not  entirely  separate.  Socrates  again, 
in  his  traits  and  genius,  is  the  best  example  of 
that  synthesis  which  constitutes  Plato's  extraor 
dinary  power.  Socrates,  a  man  of  humble  stem, 


PLATO;    OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     71 

but  honest  enough  ;  of  the  commonest  history; 
of  a  personal  homeliness  so  remarkable  as  to  be 
a  cause  of  wit  in  others  :  —  the  rather  that  his 
broad  good  nature  and  exquisite  taste  for  a  joke 
invited  the  sally,  which  was  sure  to  be  paid.  The 
players  personated  him  on  the  stage  ;  the  potters 
copied  his  ugly  face  on  their  stone  jugs.  He  was 
a  cool  fellow,  adding  to  his  humor  a  perfect  tem 
per  and  a  knowledge  of  his  man,  be  he  who  he 
might  whom  he  talked  with,  which  laid  the  com 
panion  open  to  certain  defeat  in  any  debate, — 
and  in  debate  he  immoderately  delighted.  The 
young  men  are  prodigiously  fond  of  him  and  in 
vite  him  to  their  feasts,  whither  he  goes  for  con 
versation.  He  can  drink,  too  :  has  the  strongest 

*  o 

head  in  Athens ;  and  after  leaving  the  whole  party 
under  the  table,  goes  away  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened,  to  begin  new  dialogues  with  somebody 
that  is  sober.  In  short,  he  was  what  our  country- 
people  call  an  old  one, 

He  affected  a  good  many  citizen-like  tastes, 
was  monstrously  fond  of  Athens,  hated  trees, 
never  willingly  went  beyond  the  walls,  knew  the 
old  characters,  valued  the  bores  and  philistines, 
thought  every  thing  in  Athens  a  little  better  than 
anything  in  any  other  place.  He  was  plain  as  a 
Quaker  in  habit  and  speech,  affected  low  phrases, 


72  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  illustrations  from  cocks  and  quails,  soup- 
pans  and  sycamore-spoons,  grooms  and  farriers, 
and  unnamable  offices,  —  especially  if  he  talked 
with  any  superfine  person.  He  had  a  Franklin- 
like  wisdom.  Thus  he  showed  one  who  was 
afraid  to  go  on  foot  to  Olympia,  that  it  was  no 
more  than  his  daily  walk  within  doors,  if  con 
tinuously  extended,  would  easily  reach. 

Plain  old  uncle  as  he  was,  with  his  great  ears, 
an  immense  talker,  —  the  rumor  ran  that  on  one 
or  two  occasions,  in  the  war  with  Bceotia,  he  had 
shown  a  determination  which  had  covered  the  re 
treat  of  a  troop  ;  and  there  was  some  story  that 
under  cover  of  folly,  he  had,  in  the  city  govern 
ment,  when  one  day  he  chanced  to  hold  a  seat 
there,  evinced  a  courage  in  opposing  singly  the 
popular  voice,  which  had  well-nigh  ruined  him. 
He  is  very  poor  ;  but  then  he  is  hardy  as  a  sol 
dier,  and  can  live  on  a  few  olives  ;  usually,  in  the 
strictest  sense,  on  bread  and  water,  except  when 
entertained  by  his  friends.  His  necessary  ex 
penses  were  exceedingly  small,  and  no  one  could 
live  as  he  did.  He  wore  no  under  garment;  his 
upper  garment  was  the  same  for  summer  and 
winter,  and  he  went  barefooted ;  and  it  is  said 
that  to  procure  the  pleasure,  which  he  loves,  of 
talking  at  his  ease  all  day  with  the  most  elegant 


PLATO;    OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     73 

and  cultivated  young  men,  he  will  now  and  then 
return  to  his  shop  and  carve  statues,  good  or  bad, 
for  sale.  However  that  be,  it  is  certain  that  he 
had  grown  to  delight  in  nothing  else  than  this 
conversation  ;  and  that,  under  his  hypocritical 
pretence  of  knowing  nothing,  he  attacks  and 
brings  down  all  the  fine  speakers,  all  the  fine 
philosophers  of  Athens,  whether  natives  or  stran 
gers  from  Asia  Minor  and  the  islands.  Nobody 
can  refuse  to  talk  with  him,  he  is  so  honest  and 
really  curious  to  know  ;  a  man  who  was  willingly 
confuted  if  he  did  not  speak  the  truth,  and  who 
willingly  confuted  others  asserting  what  was  false ; 
and  not  less  pleased  when  confuted  than  when 
confuting  ;  for  he  thought  not  any  evil  happened 
to  men  of  such  a  magnitude  as  false  opinion  re 
specting  the  just  and  unjust.  A  pitiless  dispu 
tant,  who  knows  nothing,  but  the  bounds  of  whose 
conquering  intelligence  no  man  had  ever  reached; 
whose  temper  was  imperturbable  ;  whose  dread 
ful  logic  was  always  leisurely  and  sportive ;  so 
careless  and  ignorant  as  to  disarm  the  wariest  and 
draw  them,  in  the  pleasantest  manner,  into  horri 
ble  doubts  and  confusion.  But  he  always  knew 
the  way  out ;  knew  it,  yet  would  not  tell  it.  No 
escape  ;  he  drives  them  to  terrible  choices  by  his 
dilemmas,  and  tosses  the  Hippiases  and  Gor- 


74  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

giases  with  their  grand  reputations,  as  a  boy  tosses 
his  balls.  The  tyrannous  realist! — Meno  has 
discoursed  a  thousand  times,  at  length,  on  vir 
tue,  before  many  companies,  and  very  well,  as  it 
appeared  to  him  ;  but  at  this  moment  he  can 
not  even  tell  what  it  is,  —  this  cramp-fish  of  a 
Socrates  has  so  bewitched  him. 

This  hard-headed  humorist,  whose  strange 
conceits,  drollery  and  bonhommie  diverted  the 
young  patricians,  whilst  the  rumor  of  his  say 
ings  and  quibbles  gets  abroad  every  day, — 
turns  out,  in  the  sequel,  to  have  a  probity  as  in 
vincible  as  his  logic,  and  to  be  either  insane,  or 
at  least,  under  cover  of  this  play,  enthusiastic  in 
his  religion.  When  accused  before  the  judges 
of  subverting  the  popular  creed,  he  affirms  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  the  future  reward  and 
punishment ;  and  refusing  to  recant,  in  a  caprice 
of  the  popular  government  was  condemned  to 
die,  and  sent  to  the  prison.  Socrates  entered  the 
prison  and  took  away  all  ignominy  from  the 
place,  which  could  not  be  a  prison  whilst  he  was 
there.  Crito  bribed  the  jailer;  but  Socrates  would 
not  go  out  by  treachery.  "  Whatever  incon 
venience  ensue,  nothing  is  to  be  preferred  before 
justice.  These  things  I  hear  like  pipes  and 
drums,  whose  sound  makes  me  deaf  to  every 


PLATO;  OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     75 

thing  you  say."  The  fame  of  this  prison,  the 
fame  of  the  discourses  there  and  the  drinking  of 
the  hemlock  are  one  of  the  most  precious  pas 
sages  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

The  rare  coincidence,  in  one  ugly  body,  of  the 
droll  and  the  martyr,  the  keen  street  and  market 
debater  with  the  sweetest  saint  known  to  any 
history  at  that  time,  had  forcibly  struck  the  mind 
of  Plato,  so  capacious  of  these  contrasts ;  and 
the  figure  of  Socrates  by  a  necessity  placed  itself 
in  the  foreground  of  the  scene,  as  the  fittest  dis 
penser  of  the  intellectual  treasures  he  had  to  com 
municate.  It  was  a  rare  fortune  that  this  JEsop 
of  the  mob  and  this  robed  scholar  should  meet, 
to  make  each  other  immortal  in  their  mutual 
faculty.  The  strange  synthesis  in  the  character 
of  Socrates  capped  the  synthesis  in  the  mind  of 
Plato.  Moreover  by  this  means  he  was  able,  in 
the  direct  way  and  without  envy  to  avail  himself 
of  the  wit  and  weight  of  Socrates,  to  which  un 
questionably  his  own  debt  was  great ;  and  these 
derived  again  their  principal  advantage  from  the 
perfect  art  of  Plato. 

It  remains  to  say  that  the  defect  of  Plato  in 
power  is  only  that  which  results  inevitably  from 
his  quality.  He  is  intellectual  in  his  aim  ;  and 
therefore,  in  expression,  literary.  Mounting  into 


76  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

heaven,  diving  into  the  pit,  expounding  the  laws 
of  the  state,  the  passion  of  love,  the  remorse  of 
crime,  the  hope  of  the  parting  soul,  —  he  is  liter 
ary,  and  never  otherwise.  It  is  almost  the  sole 
deduction  from  the  merit  of  Plato  that  his  writ 
ings  have  not, —  what  is  no  doubt  incident  to 
this  regnancy  of  intellect  in  his  work,  —  the  vital 
authority  which  the  screams  of  prophets  and  the 
sermons  of  unlettered  Arabs  and  Jews  possess. 
There  is  an  interval ;  and  to  cohesion,  contact 
is  necessary.1 

I  know  not  what  can  be  said  in  reply  to  this 
criticism  but  that  we  have  come  to  a  fact  in  the 
nature  of  things  :  an  oak  is  not  an  orange. 
The  qualities  of  sugar  remain  with  sugar,  and 
those  of  salt  with  salt. 

In  the  second  place,  he  has  not  a  system. 
The  dearest  defenders  and  disciples  are  at  fault. 
He  attempted  a  theory  of  the  universe,  and  his 
theory  is  not  complete  or  self-evident.  One 
man  thinks  he  means  this,  and  another  that ; 
he  has  said  one  thing  in  one  place,  and  the  re 
verse  of  it  in  another  place.  He  is  charged  with 
having  failed  to  make  the  transition  from  ideas 
to  matter.  Here  is  the  world,  sound  as  a  nut, 
perfect,  not  the  smallest  piece  of  chaos  left, 
never  a  stitch  nor  an  end,  not  a  mark  of  haste, 


PLATO;   OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     77 

or  botching,  or  second  thought ;  but  the  theory 
of  the  world  is  a  thing  of  shreds  and  patches. 

The  longest  wave  is  quickly  lost  in  the  sea. 
Plato  would  willingly  have  a  Platonism,  a  known 
and  accurate  expression  for  the  world,  and  it 
should  be  accurate.  It  shall  be  the  world  passed 
through  the  mind  of  Plato, —  nothing  less. 
Every  atom  shall  have  the  Platonic  tinge  ;  every 
atom,  every  relation  or  quality  you  knew  before, 
you  shall  know  again  and  find  here,  but  now 
ordered ;  not  nature,  but  art.  And  you  shall 
feel  that  Alexander  indeed  overran,  with  men 
and  horses,  some  countries  of  the  planet ;  but 
countries,  and  things  of  which  countries  are 
made,  elements,  planet  itself,  laws  of  planet  and 
of  men,  have  passed  through  this  man  as  bread 
into  his  body,  and  become  no  longer  bread,  but 
body  :  so  all  this  mammoth  morsel  has  become 
Plato.  He  has  clapped  copyright  on  the  world. 
This  is  the  ambition  of  individualism.  But  the 
mouthful  proves  too  large.  Boa  constrictor  has 
good  will  to  eat  it,  but  he  is  foiled.  He  falls 
abroad  in  the  attempt ;  and  biting,  gets  stran 
gled  :  the  bitten  world  holds  the  biter  fast  by 
his  own  teeth.  There  he  perishes  :  unconquered 
nature  lives  on  and  forgets  him.  So  it  fares  with 
all :  so  must  it  fare  with  Plato.  In  view  of 


78  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

eternal  nature,  Plato  turns  out  to  be  philosophi 
cal  exercitations.  He  argues  on  this  side  and 
on  that.  The  acutest  German,  the  lovingest 
disciple,  could  never  tell  what  Platonism  was  ; 
indeed,  admirable  texts  can  be  quoted  on  both 
sides  of  every  great  question  from  him.1 

These  things  we  are  forced  to  say  if  we  must 
consider  the  effort  of  Plato  or  of  any  philoso 
pher  to  dispose  of  nature,  —  which  will  not  be 
disposed  of.  No  power  of  genius  has  ever  yet 
had  the  smallest  success  in  explaining  existence. 
The  perfect  enigma  remains.  But  there  is  an 
injustice  in  assuming  this  ambition  for  Plato. 
Let  us  not  seem  to  treat  with  flippancy  his  ven 
erable  name.  Men,  in  proportion  to  their  in 
tellect,  have  admitted  his  transcendent  claims. 
The  way  to  know  him  is  to  compare  him,  not 
with  nature,  but  with  other  men.  How  many 
ages  have  gone  by,  and  he  remains  unap- 
proached  !  A  chief  structure  of  human  wit,  like 
Karnac,  or  the  mediaeval  cathedrals,  or  the  Etru 
rian  remains,  it  requires  all  the  breath  of  human 
faculty  to  know  it.  I  think  it  is  trueliest  seen 
when  seen  with  the  most  respect.  His  sense 
deepens,  his  merits  multiply,  with  study.  When 
we  say,  Here  is  a  fine  collection  of  fables  ;  or 
when  we  praise  the  style,  or  the  common  sense, 


PLATO;   OR,  THE  PHILOSOPHER     79 

or  arithmetic,  we  speak  as  boys,  and  much  of 
our  impatient  criticism  of  the  dialectic,  I  sus 
pect,  is  no  better. 

The  criticism  is  like  our  impatience  of  miles, 
when  we  are  in  a  hurry ;  but  it  is  still  best  that 
a  mile  should  have  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty 
yards.  The  great-eyed  Plato  proportioned  the 
lights  and  shades  after  the  genius  of  our  life.1 


PLATO:  NEW    READINGS 

THE  publication,  in  Mr.  Bonn's  "  Serial  Li 
brary,"  of  the  excellent  translations  of  Plato, 
which  we  esteem  one  of  the  chief  benefits  the 
cheap  press  has  yielded,  gives  us  an  occasion 
to  take  hastily  a  few  more  notes  of  the  eleva 
tion  and  bearings  of  this  fixed  star  ;  or  to  add  a 
bulletin,  like  the  journals,  of  Plato  at  the  latest 
dates. 

Modern  science,  by  the  extent  of  its  gener 
alization,  has  learned  to  indemnify  the  student 
of  man  for  the  defects  of  individuals  by  tracing 
growth  and  ascent  in  races  ;  and,  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  lighting  up  the  vast  background, 
generates  a  feeling  of  complacency  and  hope. 
The  human  being  has  the  saurian  and  the  plant 
in  his  rear.  His  arts  and  sciences,  the  easy  issue 
of  his  brain,  look  glorious  when  prospectively 
beheld  from  the  distant  brain  of  ox,  crocodile 
and  fish.  It  seems  as  if  nature,  in  regarding  the 
geologic  night  behind  her,  when,  in  five  or  six 
millenniums,  she  had  turned  out  five  or  six 
men,  as  Homer,  Phidias,  Menu  and  Columbus, 
was  no  wise  discontented  with  the  result.  These 


PLATO;   NEW  READINGS  81 

samples  attested  the  virtue  of  the  tree.  These 
were  a  clear  amelioration  of  trilobite  and  saurus, 
and  a  good  basis  for  further  proceeding.  With 
this  artist,  time  and  space  are  cheap,  and  she  is 
insensible  to  what  you  say  of  tedious  prepara 
tion.  She  waited  tranquilly  the  flowing  periods 
of  paleontology,  for  the  hour  to  be  struck  when 
man  should  arrive.  Then  periods  must  pass 
before  the  motion  of  the  earth  can  be  suspected  ; 
then  before  the  map  of  the  instincts  and  the 
cultivable  powers  can  be  drawn.  But  as  of  races, 
so  the  succession  of  individual  men  is  fatal  and 
beautiful,  and  Plato  has  the  fortune  in  the  his 
tory  of  mankind  to  mark  an  epoch.1 

Plato's  fame  does  not  stand  on  a  syllogism,  or 
on  any  masterpieces  of  the  Socratic  reasoning,  or 
on  any  thesis,  as  for  example  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  He  is  more  than  an  expert,  or  a  school 
man,  or  a  geometer,  or  the  prophet  of  a  peculiar 
message.  He  represents  the  privilege  of  the  in 
tellect,  the  power,  namely,  of  carrying  up  every 
fact  to  successive  platforms  and  so  disclosing  in 
every  fact  a  germ  of  expansion.  These  expan 
sions  are  in  the  essence  of  thought.  The  natural 
ist  would  never  help  us  to  them  by  any  discov 
eries  of  the  extent  of  the  universe,  but  is  as  poor 
when  cataloguing  the  resolved  nebula  of  Orion, 


82  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN  , 

as  when  measuring  the  angles  of  an  acre.  But 
the  Republic  of  Plato,  by  these  expansions,  may 
be  said  to  require  and  so  to  anticipate  the  astro 
nomy  of  Laplace.  The  expansions  are  organic. 
The  mind  does  not  create  what  it  perceives,  any 
more  than  the  eye  creates  the  rose.  In  ascribing 
to  Plato  the  merit  of  announcing  them,  we  only 
say,  Here  was  a  more  complete  man,  who  could 
apply  to  nature  the  whole  scale  of  the  senses,  the 
understanding  and  the  reason.  These  expansions 
or  extensions  consist  in  continuing  the  spiritual 
sight  where  the  horizon  falls  on  our  natural 
vision,  and  by  this  second  sight  discovering  the 
long  lines  of  law  which  shoot  in  every  direction. 
Everywhere  he  stands  on  a  path  which  has  no 
end,  but  runs  continuously  round  the  universe.1 
Therefore  every  word  becomes  an  exponent  of 
nature.  Whatever  he  looks  upon  discloses  a  sec 
ond  sense,  and  ulterior  senses.  His  perception 
of  the  generation  of  contraries,  of  death  out  of 
life  and  life  out  of  death,  —  that  law  by  which, 
in  nature,  decomposition  is  recomposition,  and 
putrefaction  and  cholera  are  only  signals  of  a  new 
creation;  his  discernment  of  the  little  in  the  large 
and  the  large  in  the  small ;  studying  the  state  in 
the  citizen  and  the  citizen  in  the  state ;  and  leav 
ing  it  doubtful  whether  he  exhibited  the  Repub- 


PLATO;    NEW  READINGS  83 

lie  as  an  allegory  on  the  education  of  the  private 
soul ;  his  beautiful  definitions  of  ideas,  of  time, 
of  form,  of  figure,  of  the  line,  sometimes  hypo- 
thetically  given,  as  his  defining  of  virtue,  cour 
age,  justice,  temperance ;  his  love  of  the  apo 
logue,  and  his  apologues  themselves ;  the  cave 
of  Trophonius  ;  the  ring  of  Gyges  ;  the  chariot 
eer  and  two  horses  ;  the  golden,  silver,  brass  and 
iron  temperaments;  Theuth  and  Thamus  ;  and 
the  visions  of  Hades  and  the  Fates,1  —  fables 
which  have  imprinted  themselves  in  the  human 
memory  like  the  signs  of  the  zodiac  ;  his  soliform 
eye  and  his  boniform  soul ; 2  his  doctrine  of  as 
similation  ;  his  doctrine  of  reminiscence;  his  clear 
vision  of  the  laws  of  return,  or  reaction,  which 
secure  instant  justice  throughout  the  universe, 
instanced  everywhere,  but  specially  in  the  doc 
trine,  "what  comes  from  God  to  us,  returns  from 
us  to  God,"  and  in  Socrates'  belief  that  the  laws 
below  are  sisters  of  the  laws  above. 

More  striking  examples  are  his  moral  conclu 
sions.  Plato  affirms  the  coincidence  of  science 
and  virtue  ;  for  vice  can  never  know  itself  and 
virtue,  but  virtue  knows  both  itself  and  vice. 
The  eye  attested  that  justice  was  best,  as  long  as 
it  was  profitable;  Plato  affirms  that  it  is  profitable 
throughout ;  that  the  profit  is  intrinsic,  though 


84  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  just  conceal  his  justice  from  gods  and  men  ; 
that  it  is  better  to  suffer  injustice  than  to  do 
it ;  that  the  sinner  ought  to  covet  punishment ; 
that  the  lie  was  more  hurtful  than  homicide  ;  and 
that  ignorance,  or  the  involuntary  lie,  was  more 
calamitous  than  involuntary  homicide ;  that  the 
soul  is  unwillingly  deprived  of  true  opinions, 
and  that  no  man  sins  willingly  ;  that  the  order 
or  proceeding  of  nature  was  from  the  mind  to 
the  body,  and,  though  a  sound  body  cannot  re 
store  an  unsound  mind,  yet  a  good  soul  can, 
by  its  virtue,  render  the  body  the  best  possible. 
The  intelligent  have  a  right  over  the  ignorant, 
namely,  the  right  of  instructing  them.  The  right 
punishment  of  one  out  of  tune  is  to  make  him 
play  in  tune ;  the  fine  which  the  good,  refusing 
to  govern,  ought  to  pay,  is,  to  be  governed  by  a 
worse  man  ;  that  his  guards  shall  not  handle  gold 
and  silver,  but  shall  be  instructed  that  there  is 
gold  and  silver  in  their  souls,  which  will  make 
men  willing  to  give  them  every  thing  which  they 
need. 

This  second  sight  explains  the  stress  laid  on 
geometry.  He  saw  that  the  globe  of  earth  was 
not  more  lawful  and  precise  than  was  the  super 
sensible  ;  that  a  celestial  geometry  was  in  place 
there,  as  a  logic  of  lines  and  angles  here  below ; 


PLATO;    NEW  READINGS  85 

that  the  world  was  throughout  mathematical ; 
the  proportions  are  constant  of  oxygen,  azote 
and  lime  ;  there  is  just  so  much  water  and  slate 
and  magnesia  ;  not  less  are  the  proportions  con 
stant  of  the  moral  elements.3 

This  eldest  Goethe,  hating  varnish  and  false 
hood,  delighted  in  revealing  the  real  at  the  base 
of  the  accidental ;  in  discovering  connection,  con 
tinuity  and  representation  everywhere,  hating 
insulation  ;  and  appears  like  the  god  of  wealth 
among  the  cabins  of  vagabonds,  opening  power 
and  capability  in  everything  he  touches.  Ethical 
science  was  new  and  vacant  when  Plato  could 
write  thus  :  —  "  Of  all  whose  arguments  are  left 
to  the  men  of  the  present  time,  no  one  has  ever 
yet  condemned  injustice,  or  praised  justice, 
otherwise  than  as  respects  the  repute,  honors  and 
emoluments  arising  therefrom  ;  while,  as  respects 
either  of  them  in  itself,  and  subsisting  by  its  own 
power  in  the  soul  of  the  possessor,  and  concealed 
both  from  gods  and  men,  no  one  has  yet  suffi 
ciently  investigated,  either  in  poetry  or  prose 
writings,  —  how,  namely,  that  injustice  is  the 
greatest  of  all  the  evils  that  the  soul  has  within 
it,  and  justice  the  greatest  good." 

His  definition  of  ideas,  as  what  is  simple,  per 
manent,  uniform  and  self-existent,  forever  dis- 


86  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

criminating  them  from  the  notions  of  the  under 
standing,  marks  an  era  in  the  world.  He  was 
born  to  behold  the  self-evolving  power  of  spirit, 
endless,  generator  of  new  ends  ;  a  power  which 
is  the  key  at  once  to  the  centrality  and  the  eva 
nescence  of  things.  Plato  is  so  centred  that  he 
can  well  spare  all  his  dogmas.  Thus  the  fact  of 
knowledge  and  ideas  reveals  to  him  the  fact  of 
eternity ;  and  the  doctrine  of  reminiscence  he 
offers  as  the  most  probable  particular  explication. 
Call  that  fanciful,  —  it  matters  not :  the  connec 
tion  between  our  knowledge  and  the  abyss  of 
being  is  still  real,  and  the  explication  must  be 
not  less  magnificent.1 

He  has  indicated  every  eminent  point  in  spec 
ulation.  He  wrote  on  the  scale  of  the  mind  itself 
so  that  all  things  have  symmetry  in  his  tablet 
He  put  in  all  the  past,  without  weariness,  and 
descended  into  detail  with  a  courage  like  that  he 
witnessed  in  nature.  One  would  say  that  his  fore 
runners  had  mapped  out  each  a  farm  or  a  district 
or  an  island,  in  intellectual  geography,  but  that 
Plato  first  drew  the  sphere.  He  domesticates  the 
soul  in  nature  :  man  is  the  microcosm.  All  the 
circles  of  the  visible  heaven  represent  as  many 
circles  in  the  rational  soul.  There  is  no  lawless 
particle,  and  there  is  nothing  casual  in  the  action 


PLATO;   NEW  READINGS  87 

of  the  human  mind.  The  names  of  things,  too, 
are  fatal,  following  the  nature  of  things.  All  the 
gods  of  the  Pantheon  are,  by  their  names,  sig 
nificant  of  a  profound  sense.  The  gods  are  the 
ideas.  Pan  is  speech,  or  manifestation  ;  Saturn, 
the  contemplative ;  Jove,  the  regal  soul ;  and 
Mars,  passion.  Venus  is  proportion  ;  Calliope, 
the  soul  of  the  world  ;  Aglaia,  intellectual  illus 
tration. 

These  thoughts,  in  sparkles  of  light,  had  ap 
peared  often  to  pious  and  to  poetic  souls  ;  but 
this  well-bred,  all-knowing  Greek  geometer 
comes  with  command,  gathers  them  all  up  into 
rank  and  gradation,  the  Euclid  of  holiness,  and 
marries  the  two  parts  of  nature.  Before  all  men, 
he  saw  the  intellectual  values  of  the  moral  sen 
timent.  He  describes  his  own  ideal,  when  he 
paints,  in  Timaeus,  a  god  leading  things  from 
disorder  into  order.  He  kindled  a  fire  so  truly 
in  the  centre  that  we  see  the  sphere  illuminated, 
and  can  distinguish  poles,  equator  and  lines  of 
latitude,  every  arc  and  node :  a  theory  so  aver 
aged,  so  modulated,  that  you  would  say  the 
winds  of  ages  had  swept  through  this  rhythmic 
structure,  and  not  that  it  was  the  brief  extempore 
blotting  of  one  short-lived  scribe.1  Hence  it  has 


88  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

happened  that  a  very  well-marked  class  of  souls, 
namely  those  who  delight  in  giving  a  spiritual, 
that  is,  an  ethico-intellectual  expression  to  every 
truth,  by  exhibiting  an  ulterior  end  which  is  yet 
legitimate  to  it,  —  are  said  to  Platonize.  Thus, 
Michael  Angelo  is  a  Platonist  in  his  sonnets  : 
Shakspeare  is  a  Platonist  when  he  writes, — 

"  Nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean," 

or,— 

"  He,  that  can  endure 
To  follow  with  allegiance  a  fallen  lord, 
Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 
And  earns  a  place  in  the  story. ' ' 

Hamlet  is  a  pure  Platonist,  and  't  is  the  magni 
tude  only  of  Shakspeare's  proper  genius  that 
hinders  him  from  being  classed  as  the  most  emi 
nent  of  this  school.  Swedenborg,  throughout  his 
prose  poem  of  "  Conjugal  Love,"  is  a  Platonist. 
His  subtlety  commended  him  to  men  of 
thought.  The  secret  of  his  popular  success  is  the 
moral  aim  which  endeared  him  to  mankind. 
"  Intellect,"  he  said,  "  is  king  of  heaven  and  of 
earth ;  "  but  in  Plato,  intellect  is  always  moral. 
His  writings  have  also  the  sempiternal  youth  of 
poetry.  For  their  arguments,  most  of  them, 
might  have  been  couched  in  sonnets  :  and  poetry 


PLATO;   NEW  READINGS  89 

has  never  soared  higher  than  in  the  Timaeus  and 
the  Phaedrus.  As  the  poet,  too,  he  is  only  con 
templative.  He  did  not,  like  Pythagoras,  break 
himself  with  an  institution.  All  his  painting  in 
the  Republic  must  be  esteemed  mythical,  with 
intent  to  bring  out,  sometimes  in  violent  colors, 
his  thought.  You  cannot  institute,  without  peril 
of  charlatanism. 

It  was  a  high  scheme,  his  absolute  privilege  for 
the  best  (which,  to  make  emphatic,  he  expressed 
by  community  of  women), as  the  premium  which 
he  would  set  on  grandeur.  There  shall  be  ex 
empts  of  two  kinds:  first,  those  who  by  demerit 
have  put  themselves  below  protection,  —  out 
laws  ;  and  secondly,  those  who  by  eminence  of 
nature  and  desert  are  out  of  the  reach  of  your 
rewards.  Let  such  be  free  of  the  city  and  above 
the  law.  We  confide  them  to  themselves ;  let 
them  do  with  us  as  they  will.  Let  none  presume 
to  measure  the  irregularities  of  Michael  Angelo 
and  Socrates  by  village  scales. 

In  his  eighth  book  of  the  Republic,  he  throws 
a  little  mathematical  dust  in  our  eyes.  I  am  sorry 
to  see  him,  after  such  noble  superiorities,  per 
mitting  the  lie  to  governors.  Plato  plays  Provi 
dence  a  little  with  the  baser  sort,  as  people  allow 
themselves  with  their  dogs  and  cats. 


Ill 

SWEDENBORG;    OR,   THE    MYSTIC 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE 
MYSTIC 

AMONG  eminent  persons,  those  who  are 
most  dear  to  men  are  not  of  the  class 
which  the  economist  calls  producers  :  they  have 
nothing  in  their  hands  ;  they  have  not  culti 
vated  corn,  nor  made  bread  ;  they  have  not  led 
out  a  colony,  nor  invented  a  loom.  A  higher 
class,  in  the  estimation  and  love  of  this  city- 
building  market-going  race  of  mankind,  are  the 
poets,  who,  from  the  intellectual  kingdom,  feed 
the  thought  and  imagination  with  ideas  and  pic 
tures  which  raise  men  out  of  the  world  of  corn 
and  money,  and  console  them  for  the  short 
comings  of  the  day  and  the  meanness  of  labor 
and  traffic.  Then,  also,  the  philosopher  has  his 
value,  who  flatters  the  intellect  of  this  laborer 
by  engaging  him  with  subtleties  which  instruct 
him  in  new  faculties.  Others  may  build  cities  ; 
he  is  to  understand  them  and  keep  them  in  awe. 
But  there  is  a  class  who  lead  us  into  another 
region,  —  the  world  of  morals  or  of  will.  What 
is  singular  about  this  region  of  thought  is  its 
claim.  Wherever  the  sentiment  of  right  comes 
in,  it  takes  precedence  of  every  thing  else.  For 


94  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

other  things,  I  make  poetry  of  them  ;  but  the 
moral  sentiment  makes  poetry  of  me.1 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  he  would 
render  the  greatest  service  to  modern  criticism, 
who  should  draw  the  line  of  relation  that  sub 
sists  between  Shakspeare  and  Swedenborg.  The 
human  mind  stands  ever  in  perplexity,  demand 
ing  intellect,  demanding  sanctity,  impatient 
equally  of  each  without  the  other.  The  recon 
ciler  has  not  yet  appeared.  If  we  tire  of  the 
saints,  Shakspeare  is  our  city  of  refuge.  Yet  the 
instincts  presently  teach  that  the  problem  of  es 
sence  must  take  precedence  of  all  others;  —  the 
questions  of  Whence  ?  What  ?  and  Whither  ? 
and  the  solution  of  these  must  be  in  a  life,  and 
not  in  a  book.  A  drama  or  poem  is  a  proximate 
or  oblique  reply ;  but  Moses,  Menu,  Jesus, 
work  directly  on  this  problem.  The  atmosphere 
of  moral  sentiment  is  a  region  of  grandeur  which 
reduces  all  material  magnificence  to  toys,  yet 
opens  to  every  wretch  that  has  reason  the  doors 
of  the  universe.  Almost  with  a  fierce  haste  it 
lays  its  empire  on  the  man.  In  the  language  of 
the  Koran,  "  God  said,  The  heaven  and  the  earth 
and  all  that  is  between  them,  think  ye  that  we 
created  them  in  jest,  and  that  ye  shall  not  return 
to  us  ?  "  It  is  the  kingdom  of  the  will,  and  by 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     95 

inspiring  the  will,  which  is  the  seat  of  personality, 
seems  to  convert  the  universe  into  a  person;  — 

"  The  realms  of  being  to  no  other  bow, 
Not  only  all  are  thine,  but  all  are  Thou." 

All  men  are  commanded  by  the  saint.  The 
Koran  makes  a  distinct  class  of  those  who  are 
by  nature  good,  and  whose  goodness  has  an  in 
fluence  on  others,  and  pronounces  this  class  to 
be  the  aim  of  creation  :  the  other  classes  are 
admitted  to  the  feast  of  being,  only  as  following 
in  the  train  of  this.  And  the  Persian  poet  ex 
claims  to  a  soul  of  this  kind,  — 

"  Go  boldly  forth,  and  feast  on  being's  banquet  ; 
Thou  art  the  called,  —  the  rest  admitted  with  thee." 

The  privilege  of  this  caste  is  an  access  to  the 
secrets  and  structure  of  nature  by  some  higher 
method  than  by  experience.  In  common  par 
lance,  what  one  man  is  said  to  learn  by  experi 
ence,  a  man  of  extraordinary  sagacity  is  said, 
without  experience,  to  divine.  The  Arabians 
say,  that  Abul  Khain,  the  mystic,  and  Abu  All 
Seena,  the  philosopher,  conferred  together ; 
and,  on  parting,  the  philosopher  said,  "All  that 
he  sees,  I  know ; "  and  the  mystic  said,  "  All 
that  he  knows,  I  see."  '  If  one  should  ask  the 
reason  of  this  intuition,  the  solution  would  lead 


96  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

us  into  that  property  which  Plato  denoted  as 
Reminiscence,  and  which  is  implied  by  the  Bra- 
mins  in  the  tenet  of  Transmigration.  The  soul 
having  been  often  born,  or,  as  the  Hindoos 
say,  "  travelling  the  path  of  existence  through 
thousands  of  births,"  having  beheld  the  things 
which  are  here,  those  which  are  in  heaven  and 
those  which  are  beneath,  there  is  nothing  of 
which  she  has  not  gained  the  knowledge  :  no 
wonder  that  she  is  able  to  recollect,  in  regard  to 
any  one  thing,  what  formerly  she  knew.  "  For, 
all  things  in  nature  being  linked  and  related, 
and  the  soul  having  heretofore  known  all,  no 
thing  hinders  but  that  any  man  who  has  recalled 
to  mind,  or  according  to  the  common  phrase 
has  learned,  one  thing  only,  should  of  himself 
recover  all  his  ancient  knowledge,  and  find  out 
again  all  the  rest,  if  he  have  but  courage  and 
faint  not  in  the  midst  of  his  researches.  For 
inquiry  and  learning  is  reminiscence  all."  How 
much  more,  if  he  that  inquires  be  a  holy  and 
godlike  soul  !  For  by  being  assimilated  to  the 
original  soul,  by  whom  and  after  whom  all  things 
subsist,  the  soul  of  man  does  then  easily  flow 
into  all  things,  and  all  things  flow  into  it :  they 
mix ;  and  he  is  present  and  sympathetic  with 
their  structure  and  law.1 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     97 

This  path  is  difficult,  secret  and  beset  with 
terror.  The  ancients  called  it  ecstasy  or  absence, 
—  a  getting  out  of  their  bodies  to  think.  All 
religious  history  contains  traces  of  the  trance 
of  saints,  —  a  beatitude,  but  without  any  sign 
of  joy  ;  earnest,  solitary,  even  sad  ;  "  the  flight," 
Plotinus  called  it,  "of  the  alone  to  the  alone;" 
Mwycris,  the  closing  of  the  eyes,  —  whence  our 
word,  Mystic.  The  trances  of  Socrates,  Ploti 
nus,  Porphyry,  Behmen,  Bunyan,  Fox,  Pascal, 
Guyon,  Swedenborg,  will  readily  come  to  mind. 
But  what  as  readily  comes  to  mind  is  the  accom 
paniment  of  disease.  This  beatitude  comes  in 
terror,  and  with  shocks  to  the  mind  of  the  re 
ceiver. 

"It  o'erinforms  the  tenement  of  clay,"  * 

and  drives  the  man  mad ;  or  gives  a  certain  vio 
lent  bias  which  taints  his  judgment.  In  the  chief 
examples  of  religious  illumination  somewhat 
morbid  has  mingled,  in  spite  of  the  unquestion 
able  increase  of  mental  power.  Must  the  high 
est  good  drag  after  it  a  quality  which  neutralizes 
and  discredits  it  ?  — 

"  Indeed,  it  takes 

From  our  achievements,  when  performed  at  height, 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute."  * 

Shall  we  say,  that  the  economical  mother  dis- 


98  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

burses  so  much  earth  and  so  much  fire,  by  weight 
and  meter,  to  make  a  man,  and  will  not  add  a 
pennyweight,  though  a  nation  is  perishing  for 
a  leader  ?  Therefore  the  men  of  God  purchased 
their  science  by  folly  or  pain.  If  you  will  have 
pure  carbon,  carbuncle,  or  diamond,  to  make  the 
brajn  transparent,  the  trunk  and  organs  shall  be 
so  much  the  grosser :  instead  of  porcelain  they 
are  potter's  earth,  clay,  or  mud. 

In  modern  times  no  such  remarkable  example 
of  this  introverted  mind  has  occurred  as  in 
Emanuel  Swedenborg,  born  in  Stockholm,  in 
1688.  This  man,  who  appeared  to  his  contem 
poraries  a  visionary  and  elixir  of  moonbeams,  no 
doubt  led  the  most  real  life  of  any  man  then  in 
the  world  :  and  now,  when  the  royal  and  ducal 
Frederics,  Christians  and  Brunswicks  of  that 
day  have  slid  into  oblivion,  he  begins  to  spread 
himself  into  the  minds  of  thousands.  As  hap 
pens  in  great  men,  he  seemed,  by  the  variety  and 
amount  of  his  powers,  to  be  a  composition  of 
several  persons,  —  like  the  giant  fruits  which  are 
matured  in  gardens  by  the  union  of  four  or  five 
single  blossoms.  His  frame  is  on  a  larger  scale 
and  possesses  the  advantages  of  size.  As  it  is 
easier  to  see  the  reflection  of  the  great  sphere  in 
large  globes,  though  defaced  by  some  crack  or 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     99 

blemish,  than  in  drops  of  water,  so  men  of  large 
calibre,  though  with  some  eccentricity  or  mad 
ness,  like  Pascal  or  Newton,  help  us  more  than 
balanced  mediocre  minds. 

His  youth  and  training  could  not  fail  to  be 
extraordinary.  Such  a  boy  could  not  whistle  or 
dance,  but  goes  grubbing  into  mines  and  moun 
tains,  prying  into  chemistry  and  optics,  physi 
ology,  mathematics  and  astronomy,  to  find  im 
ages  fit  for  the  measure  of  his  versatile  and 
capacious  brain.  He  was  a  scholar  from  a  child, 
and  was  educated  at  Upsala.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-eight  he  was  made  Assessor  of  the  Board 
of  Mines  by  Charles  XII.  In  1716,  he  left 
home  for  four  years  and  visited  the  universities 
of  England,  Holland,  France  and  Germany. 
He  performed  a  notable  feat  of  engineering  in 
1718,  at  the  siege  of  Frederikshald,  by  hauling 
two  galleys,  five  boats  and  a  sloop,  some  four 
teen  English  miles  overland,  for  the  royal  ser 
vice.  In  1721  he  journeyed  over  Europe  to  ex 
amine  mines  and  smelting  works.  He  published 
in  1716  his  Daedalus  Hyperboreus,  and  from 
this  time  for  the  next  thirty  years  was  employed 
in  the  composition  and  publication  of  his  scien 
tific  works.  With  the  like  force  he  threw  him 
self  into  theology.  In  1743,  when  he  was  fifty- 


foo  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

four  years  old,  what  is  called  his  illumination 
began.  All  his  metallurgy  and  transportation 
of  ships  overland  was  absorbed  into  this  ecstasy. 
He  ceased  to  publish  any  more  scientific  books, 
withdrew  from  his  practical  labors  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  writing  and  publication  of  his 
voluminous  theological  works,  which  were 
printed  at  his  own  expense,  or  at  that  of  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick  or  other  prince,  at  Dresden, 
Leipsic,  London,  or  Amsterdam.  Later,  he  re 
signed  his  office  of  Assessor  :  the  salary  attached 
to  this  office  continued  to  be  paid  to  him  dur 
ing  his  life.  His  duties  had  brought  him  into 
intimate  acquaintance  with  King  Charles  XII., 
by  whom  he  was  much  consulted  and  honored. 
The  like  favor  was  continued  to  him  by  his  suc 
cessor.  At  the  Diet  of  1751,  Count  Hopken 
says,  the  most  solid  memorials  on  finance  were 
from  his  pen.  In  Sweden  he  appears  to  have 
attracted  a  marked  regard.  His  rare  science  and 
practical  skill,  and  the  added  fame  of  second 
sight  and  extraordinary  religious  knowledge  and 
gifts,  drew  to  him  queens,  nobles,  clergy,  ship 
masters  and  people  about  the  ports  through 
which  he  was  wont  to  pass  in  his  many  voy 
ages.  The  clergy  interfered  a  little  with  the  im 
portation  and  publication  of  his  religious  works, 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     101 

but  he  seems  to  have  kept  the  friendship  of 
men  in  power.  He  was  never  married.  He  had 
great  modesty  and  gentleness  of  bearing.  His 
habits  were  simple  ;  he  lived  on  bread,  milk  and 
vegetables ;  he  lived  in  a  house  situated  in  a 
large  garden;  he  went  several  times  to  England, 
where  he  does  not  seem  to  have  attracted  any 
attention  whatever  from  the  learned  or  the  emi 
nent ;  and  died  at  London,  March  29,  1772,  of 
apoplexy,  in  his  eighty-fifth  year.  He  is  de 
scribed,  when  in  London,  as  a  man  of  a  quiet, 
clerical  habit,  not  averse  to  tea  and  coffee,  and 
kind  to  children.  He  wore  a  sword  when  in  full 
velvet  dress,  and,  whenever  he  walked  out,  car 
ried  a  gold-headed  cane.  There  is  a  common 
portrait  of  him  in  antique  coat  and  wig,  but  the 
face  has  a  wandering  or  vacant  air. 

The  genius  which  was  to  penetrate  the  science 
of  the  age  with  a  far  more  subtle  science  ;  to  pass 
the  bounds  of  space  and  time,  venture  into  the 
dim  spirit-realm,  and  attempt  to  establish  a  new 
religion  in  the  world,  —  began  its  lessons  in 
quarries  and  forges,  in  the  smelting-pot  and 
crucible,  in  ship-yards  and  dissecting-rooms. 
No  one  man  is  perhaps  able  to  judge  of  the  merits 
of  his  works  on  so  many  subjects.  One  is  glad 
to  learn  that  his  books  on  mines  and  metals  are 


102  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

held  in  the  highest  esteem  by  those  who  under 
stand  these  matters.  It  seems  that  he  antici 
pated  much  science  of  the  nineteenth  century  ; 
anticipated,  in  astronomy,  the  discovery  of  the 
seventh  planet,  —  but,  unhappily,  not  also  of 
the  eighth  ;  anticipated  the  views  of  modern 
astronomy  in  regard  to  the  generation  of  earths 
by  the  sun  ;  in  magnetism,  some  important  ex 
periments  and  conclusions  of  later  students  ;  in 
chemistry,  the  atomic  theory ;  in  anatomy,  the 
discoveries  of  Schlichting,  Monro  and  Wilson  ; 
and  first  demonstrated  the  office  of  the  lungs. 
His  excellent  English  editor  magnanimously 
lays  no  stress  on  his  discoveries,  since  he  was  too 
great  to  care  to  be  original ;  and  we  are  to  judge, 
by  what  he  can  spare,  of  what  remains. 

A  colossal  soul,  he  lies  vast  abroad  on  his 
times,  uncomprehended  by  them,  and  requires  a 
long  focal  distance  to  be  seen  ;  suggests,  as  Aris 
totle,  Bacon,  Selden,1  Humboldt,  that  a  certain 
vastness  of  learning,  or  quasi  omnipresence  of 
the  human  soul  in  nature,  is  possible.  His  superb 
speculation,  as  from  a  tower,  over  nature  and 
arts,  without  ever  losing  sight  of  the  texture  and 
sequence  of  things,  almost  realizes  his  own  pic 
ture,  in  the  "  Principia,"  of  the  original  integrity 
of  man.  Over  and  above  the  merit  of  his  partic- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     103 

ular  discoveries,  is  the  capital  merit  of  his  self- 
equality.  A  drop  of  water  has  the  properties  of 
the  sea,  but  cannot  exhibit  a  storm.  There  is 
beauty  of  a  concert,  as  well  as  of  a  flute  ;  strength 
of  a  host,  as  well  as  of  a  hero  ;  and,  in  Sweden- 
borg,  those  who  are  best  acquainted  with  modern 
books  will  most  admire  the  merit  of  mass.  One 
of  the  missouriums  and  mastodons  of  literature, 
he  is  not  to  be  measured  by  whole  colleges  of 
ordinary  scholars.  His  stalwart  presence  would 
flutter  the  gowns  of  an  university.  Our  books 
are  false  by  being  fragmentary :  their  sentences 
are  bonmotsy  and  not  parts  of  natural  discourse  ; 
childish  expressions  of  surprise  or  pleasure  in 
nature ;  or,  worse,  owing  a  brief  notoriety  to 
their  petulance,  or  aversion  from  the  order  of 
nature;  —  being  some  curiosity  or  oddity,  de 
signedly  not  in  harmony  with  nature  and  pur 
posely  framed  to  excite  surprise,  as  jugglers  do 
by  concealing  their  means.  But  Swedenborg  is 
systematic  and  respective  of  the  world  in  every 
sentence ;  all  the  means  are  orderly  given  ;  his 
faculties  work  with  astronomic  punctuality,  and 
this  admirable  writing  is  pure  from  all  pertness 
or  egotism. 

Swedenborg  was  born  into  an  atmosphere  of 
great  ideas.    It  is  hard  to  say  what  was  his  own  : 


io4  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

yet  his  life  was  dignified  by  noblest  pictures  of 
the  universe.  The  robust  Aristotelian  method, 
with  its  breadth  and  adequateness,  shaming  our 
sterile  and  linear  logic  by  its  genial  radiation, 
conversant  with  series  and  degree,  with  effects 
and  ends,  skilful  to  discriminate  power  from 
form,  essence  from  accident,  and  opening,  by 
its  terminology  and  definition,  high  roads  into 
nature,  had  trained  a  race  of  athletic  philoso 
phers.  Harvey  had  shown  the  circulation  of  the 
blood ;  Gilbert  had  shown  that  the  earth  was  a 
magnet;  Descartes,  taught  by  Gilbert's  magnet, 
with  its  vortex,  spiral  and  polarity,  had  filled 
Europe  with  the  leading  thought  of  vortical 
motion,  as  the  secret  of  nature.1  Newton,  in  the 
year  in  which  Swedenborg  was  born,  published 
the  "  Principia,"  and  established  the  universal 
gravity.  Malpighi,  following  the  high  doctrines 
of  Hippocrates,  Leucippus  and  Lucretius,  had 
given  emphasis  to  the  dogma  that  nature  works 
in  leasts,  —  "  tota  in  minimis  existit  natura."  2 
Unrivalled  dissectors,  Swammerdam,  Leuwen- 
hoek,  Winslow,  Eustachius,  Heister,  Vesalius, 
Boerhaave,  had  left  nothing  for  scalpel  or  micro 
scope  to  reveal  in  human  or  comparative  ana 
tomy  :3  Linnaeus,  his  contemporary,  was  affirnr- 
ing,  in  his  beautiful  science,  that  "  Nature  is 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     105 

always  like  herself:  "'and,  lastly,  the  nobility  of 
method,  the  largest  application  of  principles,  had 
been  exhibited  by  Leibnitz  and  Christian  Wolff, 
in  cosmology ;  whilst  Locke  and  Grotius  had 
drawn  the  moral  argument.  What  was  left  for  a 
genius  of  the  largest  calibre  but  to  go  over  their 
ground  and  verify  and  unite  ?  It  is  easy  to  see, 
in  these  minds,  the  origin  of  Swedenborg's 
studies,  and  the  suggestion  of  his  problems.  He 
had  a  capacity  to  entertain  and  vivify  these  vol 
umes  of  thought.  Yet  the  proximity  of  these 
geniuses,  one  or  other  of  whom  had  introduced 
all  his  leading  ideas,  makes  Swedenborg  another 
example  of  the  difficulty,  even  in  a  highly  fertile 
genius,  of  proving  originality,  the  first  birth  and 
annunciation  of  one  of  the  laws  of  nature. 

He  named  his  favorite  views  the  doctrine  of 
Forms,  the  doctrine  of  Series  and  Degrees,  the 
doctrine  of  Influx,  the  doctrine  of  Correspond 
ence.  His  statement  of  these  doctrines  deserves 
to  be  studied  in  his  books.  Not  every  man  can 
read  them,  but  they  will  reward  him  who  can. 
His  theologic  works  are  valuable  to  illustrate 
these.  His  writings  would  be  a  sufficient  library 
to  a  lonely  and  athletic  student ;  and  the  "  Econ 
omy  of  the  Animal  Kingdom  "  is  one  of  those 
books  which,  by  the  sustained  dignity  of  think- 


io6  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ing,  is  an  honor  to  the  human  race.  He  had  stud 
ied  spars  and  metals  to  some  purpose.  His  va 
ried  and  solid  knowledge  makes  his  style  lustrous 
with  points  and  shooting  spiculae  of  thought, 
and  resembling  one  of  those  winter  mornings 
when  the  air  sparkles  with  crystals.  The  gran 
deur  of  the  topics  makes  the  grandeur  of  the 
style.  He  was  apt  for  cosmology,  because  of 
that  native  perception  of  identity  which  made 
mere  size  of  no  account  to  him.  In  the  atom  of 
magnetic  iron  he  saw  the  quality  which  would 
generate  the  spiral  motion  of  sun  and  planet. 

The  thoughts  in  which  he  lived  were,  the 
universality  of  each  law  in  nature ;  the  Platonic 
doctrine  of  the  scale  or  degrees ;  the  version  or 
conversion  of  each  into  other,  and  so  the  corre 
spondence  of  all  the  parts ;  the  fine  secret  that 
little  explains  large,  and  large,  little ;  the  cen- 
trality  of  man  in  nature,  and  the  connection  that 
subsists  throughout  all  things  :  he  saw  that  the 
human  body  was  strictly  universal,  or  an  instru 
ment  through  which  the  soul  feeds  and  is  fed 
by  the  whole  of  matter  ;  so  that  he  held,  in  exact 
antagonism  to  the  skeptics,  that  "  the  wiser  a 
man  is,  the  more  will  he  be  a  worshipper  of  the 
Deity."  In  short,  he  was  a  believer  in  the  Iden 
tity-philosophy,  which  he  held  not  idly,  as  the 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     107 

dreamers  of  Berlin  or  Boston,  but  which  he  ex 
perimented  with  and  established  through  years 
of  labor,  with  the  heart  and  strength  of  the  rud 
est  Viking  that  his  rough  Sweden  ever  sent  to 
battle. 

This  theory  dates  from  the  oldest  philoso 
phers,  and  derives  perhaps  its  best  illustration 
from  the  newest.  It  is  this,  that  Nature  iterates 
her  means  perpetually  on  successive  planes.  In 
the  old  aphorism,  nature  is  always  self-similar. 
In  the  plant,  the  eye  or  germinative  point  opens 
to  a  leaf,  then  to  another  leaf,  with  a  power  of 
transforming  the  leaf  into  radicle,  stamen,  pistil, 
petal,  bract,  sepal,  or  seed.  The  whole  art  of 
the  plant  is  still  to  repeat  leaf  on  leaf  without 
end,  the  more  or  less  of  heat,  light,  moisture  and 
food  determining  the  form  it  shall  assume.  In 
the  animal,  nature  makes  a  vertebra,  or  a  spine 
of  vertebras,  and  helps  herself  still  by  a  new 
spine,  with  a  limited  power  of  modifying  its 
form,  —  spine  on  spine,  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
A  poetic  anatomist,  in  our  own  day,  teaches  that 
a  snake,  being  a  horizontal  line,  and  man,  being 
an  erect  line,  constitute  a  right  angle;  and  be 
tween  the  lines  of  this  mystical  quadrant  all  ani 
mated  beings  find  their  place :  and  he  assumes 
the  hair-worm,  the  span-worm,  or  the  snake,  as 


io8  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  type  or  prediction  of  the  spine.  Manifestly, 
at  the  end  of  the  spine,  Nature  puts  out  smaller 
spines,  as  arms ;  at  the  end  of  the  arms,  new 
spines,  as  hands ;  at  the  other  end,  she  repeats 
the  process,  as  legs  and  feet.  At  the  top  of  the 
column  she  puts  out  another  spine,  which 
doubles  or  loops  itself  over,  as  a  span-worm, 
into  a  ball,  and  forms  the  skull,  with  extremities 
again  :  the  hands  being  now  the  upper  jaw,  the 
feet  the  lower  jaw,  the  fingers  and  toes  being 
represented  this  time  by  upper  and  lower  teeth.1 
This  new  spine  is  destined  to  high  uses.  It  is  a 
new  man  on  the  shoulders  of  the  last.  It  can 
almost  shed  its  trunk  and  manage  to  live  alone, 
according  to  the  Platonic  idea  in  the  Timasus. 
Within  it,  on  a  higher  plane,  all  that  was  done 
in  the  trunk  repeats  itself.  Nature  recites  her 
lesson  once  more  in  a  higher  mood.  The  mind 
is  a  finer  body,  and  resumes  its  functions  of  feed 
ing,  digesting,  absorbing,  excluding  and  gener 
ating,  in  a  new  and  ethereal  element.  Here  in 
the  brain  is  all  the  process  of  alimentation  re 
peated,  in  the  acquiring,  comparing,  digesting 
and  assimilating  of  experience.  Here  again  is 
the  mystery  of  generation  repeated.  In  the  brain 
are  male  and  female  faculties  ;  here  is  marriage, 
here  is  fruit.  And  there  is  no  limit  to  this  as- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     109 

cending  scale,  but  series  on  series.  Every  thing, 
at  the  end  of  one  use,  is  taken  up  into  the  next, 
each  series  punctually  repeating  every  organ  and 
process  of  the  last.  We  are  adapted  to  infinity. 
We  are  hard  to  please,  and  love  nothing  which 
ends ;  and  in  nature  is  no  end,  but  every  thing 
at  the  end  of  one  use  is  lifted  into  a  superior, 
and  the  ascent  of  these  things  climbs  into  dae 
monic  and  celestial  natures.1  Creative  force,  like 
a  musical  composer,  goes  on  unweariedly  repeat 
ing  a  simple  air  or  theme,  now  high,  now  low, 
in  solo,  in  chorus,  ten  thousand  times  reverber 
ated,  till  it  fills  earth  and  heaven  with  the  chant. 
Gravitation,  as  explained  by  Newton,  is  good, 
but  grander  when  we  find  chemistry  only  an 
extension  of  the  law  of  masses  into  particles, 
and  that  the  atomic  theory  shows  the  action  of 
chemistry  to  be  mechanical  also.  Metaphysics 
shows  us  a  sort  of  gravitation  operative  also  in 
the  mental  phenomena;  and  the  terrible  tabula 
tion  of  the  French  statists  brings  every  piece  of 
whim  and  humor  to  be  reducible  also  to  exact 
numerical  ratios.  If  one  man  in  twenty  thou 
sand,  or  in  thirty  thousand,  eats  shoes  or  mar 
ries  his  grandmother,  then  in  every  twenty  thou 
sand  or  thirty  thousand  is  found  one  man  who 
eats  shoes  or  marries  his  grandmother.  What 


no  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

we  call  gravitation,  and  fancy  ultimate,  is  one 
fork  of  a  mightier  stream  for  which  we  have  yet 
no  name.  Astronomy  is  excellent ;  but  it  must 
come  up  into  life  to  have  its  full  value,  and  not 
remain  there  in  globes  and  spaces.  The  globule 
of  blood  gyrates  around  its  own  axis  in  the  human 
veins,  as  the  planet  in  the  sky;  and  the  circles 
of  intellect  relate  to  those  of  the  heavens.  Each 
law  of  nature  has  the  like  universality ;  eating, 
sleep  or  hybernation,  rotation,  generation,  meta 
morphosis,  vortical  motion,  which  is  seen  in 
eggs  as  in  planets.  These  grand  rhymes  or  re 
turns  in  nature,  —  the  dear,  best-known  face 
startling  us  at  every  turn,  under  a  mask  so  un 
expected  that  we  think  it  the  face  of  a.  stranger, 
and  carrying  up  the  semblance  into  divine 
forms,  —  delighted  the  prophetic  eye  of  Swe- 
denborg;  and  he  must  be  reckoned  a  leader  in 
that  revolution,  which,  by  giving  to  science  an 
idea,  has  given  to  an  aimless  accumulation  of 
experiments,  guidance  and  form  and  a  beating 
heart. 

I  own  with  some  regret  that  his  printed  works 
amount  to  about  fifty  stout  octavos,  his  scien 
tific  works  being  about  half  of  the  whole  number; 
and  it  appears  that  a  mass  of  manuscript  still 
unedited  remains  in  the  royal  library  at  Stock- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     in 

holm.  The  scientific  works  have  just  now  been 
translated  into  English,  in  an  excellent  edition. 

Swedenborg  printed  these  scientific  books  in 
the  ten  years  from  1734  to  1744,  and  they  re 
mained  from  that  time  neglected ;  and  now,  after 
their  century  is  complete,  he  has  at  last  found  a 
pupil  in  Mr.  Wilkinson,  in  London,  a  philo 
sophic  critic,  with  a  coequal  vigor  of  understand 
ing  and  imagination  comparable  only  to  Lord 
Bacon's,  who  has  restored  his  master's  buried 
books  to  the  day,  and  transferred  them,  with 
every  advantage,  from  their  forgotten  Latin  into 
English,  to  go  round  the  world  in  our  commer 
cial  and  conquering  tongue.  This  startling  re- 
appearance  of  Swedenborg,  after  a  hundred  years, 
in  his  pupil,  is  not  the  least  remarkable  fact  in 
his  history.  Aided  it  is  said  by  the  munificence 
of  Mr.  Clissold,  and  also  by  his  literary  skill, 
this  piece  of  poetic  justice  is  done.  The  admir 
able  preliminary  discourses  with  which  Mr.  Wil 
kinson  has  enriched  these  volumes,  throw  all  the 
contemporary  philosophy  of  England  into  shade, 
and  leave  me  nothing  to  say  on  their  proper 
grounds.1 

The  "  Animal  Kingdom  "  is  a  book  of  won 
derful  merits.  It  was  written  with  the  highest 
end,  —  to  put  science  and  the  soul,  long  es- 


ii2  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

tranged  from  each  other,  at  one  again.  It  was 
an  anatomist's  account  of  the  human  body,  in 
the  highest  style  of  poetry.  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  bold  and  brilliant  treatment  of  a  subject 
usually  so  dry  and  repulsive.1  He  saw  nature 
"  wreathing  through  an  everlasting  spiral,  with 
wheels  that  never  dry,  on  axles  that  nevercreak," 
and  sometimes  sought  "  to  uncover  those  secret 
recesses  where  Nature  is  sitting  at  the  fires  in  the 
depths  of  her  laboratory ; "  whilst  the  picture 
comes  recommended  by  the  hard  fidelity  with 
which  it  is  based  on  practical  anatomy.  It  is  re 
markable  that  this  sublime  genius  decides  per 
emptorily  for  the  analytic,  against  the  synthetic 
method  ;  and,  in  a  book  whose  genius  is  a  daring 
poetic  synthesis,  claims  to  confine  himself  to  a 
rigid  experience. 

He  knows,  if  he  only,  the  flowing  of  nature, 
and  how  wise  was  that  old  answer  of  Amasis  to 
him  who  bade  him  drink  up  the  sea,  —  "  Yes, 
willingly,  if  you  will  stop  the  rivers  that  flow 
in." 3  Few  knew  as  much  about  nature  and  her 
subtle  manners,  or  expressed  more  subtly  her 
goings.  He  thought  as  large  a  demand  is  made 
on  our  faith  by  nature,  as  by  miracles.  "  He 
noted  that  in  her  proceeding  from  first  princi 
ples  through  her  several  subordinations,  there 


SWEDENBORG;  OR,  THE  MYSTIC    113 

was  no  state  through  which  she  did  not  pass,  as 
if  her  path  lay  through  all  things."  "  For  as 
often  as  she  betakes  herself  upward  from  visible 
phenomena,  or,  in  other  words,  withdraws  her 
self  inward,  she  instantly  as  it  were  disappears, 
while  no  one  knows  what  has  become  of  her,  or 
whither  she  is  gone :  so  that  it  is  necessary  to 
take  science  as  a  guide  in  pursuing  her  steps." 
The  pursuing  the  inquiry  under  the  light  of 
an  end  or  final  cause  gives  wonderful  animation, 
a  sort  of  personality  to  the  whole  writing.  This 
book  announces  his  favorite  dogmas.  The  an 
cient  doctrine  of  Hippocrates,  that  the  brain  is  a 
gland  ;  and  of  Leucippus,  that  the  atom  may  be 
known  by  the  mass  ;  or,  in  Plato,  the  macrocosm 
by  the  microcosm ;  and,  in  the  verses  of  Lucre 
tius,  — 

Ossa  videlicet  e  pauxillis  atque  minutis 
Ossibus  sic  et  de  pauxillis  atque  minutis 
Visceribus  viscus  gigni,  sanguenque  creari 
Sanguinis  inter  se  multis  coeuntibus  guttis  ; 
Ex  aurique  putat  micis  consistere  posse 
Aurum,  et  de  terns  terram  concrescere  parvis  ; 
Ignibus  ex  igneis,  humorem  humoribus  esse.1 

"  The  principle  of  all  things,  entrails  made 
Of  smallest  entrails  ;  bone,  of  smallest  bone  ; 
Blood,  of  small  sanguine  drops  reduced  to  one  ; 


H4  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

Gold,  of  small  grains  ;  earth,  of  small  sands  compacted  ; 
Small  drops  to  water,  sparks  to  fire  contracted  :  " 

and  which  Malpighi  had  summed  in  his  maxim 
that  "  nature  exists  entire  in  leasts,"  —  is  a  favor 
ite  thought  of  Swedenborg.  "It  is  a  constant 
law  of  the  organic  body  that  large,  compound, 
or  visible  forms  exist  and  subsist  from  smaller, 
simpler  and  ultimately  from  invisible  forms, 
which  act  similarly  to  the  larger  ones,  but  more 
perfectly  and  more  universally ;  and  the  least 
forms  so  perfectly  and  universally  as  to  involve 
an  idea  representative  of  their  entire  universe." 
The  unities  of  each  organ  are  so  many  little 
organs,  homogeneous  with  their  compound  :  the 
unities  of  the  tongue  are  little  tongues  ;  those  of 
the  stomach,  little  stomachs;  those  of  the  heart 
are  little  hearts.  This  fruitful  idea  furnishes  a 
key  to  every  secret.  What  was  too  small  for  the 
eye  to  detect  was  read  by  the  aggregates ;  what 
was  too  large,  by  the  units.  There  is  no  end  to 
his  application  of  the  thought.  "  Hunger  is  an 
aggregate  of  very  many  little  hungers,  or  losses 
of  blood  by  the  little  veins  all  over  the  body." 
It  is  a  key  to  his  theology  also.  "  Man  is  a  kind 
of  very  minute  heaven,  corresponding  to  the 
world  of  spirits  and  to  heaven.  Every  particular 
idea  of  man,  and  every  affection,  yea,  every 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     115 

smallest  part  of  his  affection,  is  an  image  and 
effigy  of  him.  A  spirit  may  be  known  from  only 
a  single  thought.  God  is  the  grand  man." 

The  hardihood  and  thoroughness  of  his  study 
of  nature  required  a  theory  of  forms  also. 
"  Forms  ascend  in  order  from  the  lowest  to  the 
highest.  The  lowest  form  is  angular,  or  the  ter 
restrial  and  corporeal.  The  second  and  next 
higher  form  is  the  circular,  which  is  also  called 
the  perpetual-angular,  because  the  circumference 
of  a  circle  is  a  perpetual  angle.  The  form  above 
this  is  the  spiral,  parent  and  measure  of  circular 
forms :  its  diameters  are  not  rectilinear,  but 
variously  circular,  and  have  a  spherical  surface 
for  centre  ;  therefore  it  is  called  the  perpetual- 
circular.  The  form  above  this  is  the  vortical,  or 
perpetual-spiral  :  next,  the  perpetual-vortical, 
or  celestial :  last,  the  perpetual-celestial,  or 
spiritual." 

Was  it  strange  that  a  genius  so  bold  should 
take  the  last  step  also,  should  conceive  that  he 
might  attain  the  science  of  all  sciences,  to  un 
lock  the  meaning  of  the  world  ?  In  the  first 
volume  of  the  "  Animal  Kingdom,"  he  broaches 
the  subject  in  a  remarkable  note:  — "In  our 
doctrine  of  Representations  and  Correspond 
ences  we  shall  treat  of  both  these  symbolical 


n6  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  typical  resemblances,  and  of  the  astonishing 
things  which  occur,  I  will  not  say  in  the  living 
body  only,  but  throughout  nature,  and  which 
correspond  so  entirely  to  supreme  and  spiritual 
things  that  one  would  swear  that  the  physical 
world  was  purely  symbolical  of  the  spiritual 
world  ;  insomuch  that  if  we  choose  to  express 
any  natural  truth  in  physical  and  definite  vocal 
terms,  and  to  convert  these  terms  only  into  the 
corresponding  and  spiritual  terms,  we  shall  by 
this  means  elicit  a  spiritual  truth  or  theological 
dogma,  in  place  of  the  physical  truth  or  pre 
cept  :  although  no  mortal  would  have  predicted 
that  any  thing  of  the  kind  could  possibly  arise 
by  bare  literal  transposition  ;  inasmuch  as  the 
one  precept,  considered  separately  from  the 
other,  appears  to  have  absolutely  no  relation  to 
it.  I  intend  hereafter  to  communicate  a  number 
of  examples  of  such  correspondences,  together 
with  a  vocabulary  containing  the  terms  of  spirit 
ual  things,  as  well  as  of  the  physical  things  for 
which  they  are  to  be  substituted.  This  symbol 
ism  pervades  the  living  body." 

The  fact  thus  explicitly  stated  is  implied  in 
all  poetry,  in  allegory,  in  fable,  in  the  use  of 
emblems  and  in  the  structure  of  language. 
Plato  knew  it,  as  is  evident  from  his  twice  bi- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     117 

sected  line  in  the  sixth  book  of  the  Republic. 
Lord  Bacon  had  found  that  truth  and  nature 
differed  only  as  seal  and  print ;  and  he  instanced 
some  physical  propositions,  with  their  transla 
tion  into  a  moral  or  political  sense.  Behmen, 
and  all  mystics,  imply  this  law  in  their  dark 
riddle-writing.  The  poets,  in  as  far  as  they  are 
poets,  use  it ;  but  it  is  known  to  them  only  as 
the  magnet  was  known  for  ages,  as  a  toy. 
Swedenborg  first  put  the  fact  into  a  detached 
and  scientific  statement,  because  it  was  habitu 
ally  present  to  him,  and  never  not  seen.  It  was 
involved,  as  we  explained  already,  in  the  doc 
trine  of  identity  and  iteration,  because  the  men 
tal  series  exactly  tallies  with  the  material  series. 
It  required  an  insight  that  could  rank  things  in 
order  and  series  ;  or  rather  it  required  such 
Tightness  of  position  that  the  poles  of  the  eye 
should  coincide  with  the  axis  of  the  world.  The 
earth  had  fed  its  mankind  through  five  or  six 
millenniums,  and  they  had  sciences,  religions, 
philosophies,  and  yet  had  failed  to  see* the  cor 
respondence  of  meaning  between  every  part  and 
every  other  part.  And,  down  to  this  hour,  lit 
erature  has  no  book  in  which  the  symbolism 
of  things  is  scientifically  opened.  One  would 
say  that  as  soon  as  men  had  the  first  hint  that 


REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

every  sensible  object,  —  animal,  rock,  river,  air, 
—  nay,  space  and  time,  subsists  not  for  itself, 
nor  finally  to  a  material  end,  but  as  a  picture- 
language  to  tell  another  story  of  beings  and 
duties,  other  science  would  be  put  by,  and  a 
science  of  such  grand  presage  would  absorb  all 
faculties  :  that  each  man  would  ask  of  all  ob 
jects  what  they  mean :  Why  does  the  horizon 
hold  me  fast,  with  my  joy  and  grief,  in  this 
centre  ?  Why  hear  I  the  same  sense  from  count 
less  differing  voices,  and  read  one  never  quite 
expressed  fact  in  endless  picture-language  ?  Yet 
whether  it  be  that  these  things  will  not  be  intel 
lectually  learned;  or  that  many  centuries  must 
elaborate  and  compose  so  rare  and  opulent  a 
soul,  —  there  is  no  comet,  rock-stratum,  fossil, 
fish,  quadruped,  spider,  or  fungus,  that,  for  it 
self,  does  not  interest  more  scholars  and  classi 
fiers  than  the  meaning  and  upshot  of  the  frame 
of  things.1 

But  Swedenborg  was  not  content  with  the 
culinary  use  of  the  world.  In  his  fifty-fourth 
year  these  thoughts  held  him  fast,  and  his  pro 
found  mind  admitted  the  perilous  opinion,  too 
frequent  in  religious  history,  that  he  was  an  ab 
normal  person,  to  whom  was  granted  the  privi 
lege  of  conversing  with  angels  and  spirits  ;  and 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     119 

this  ecstasy  connected  itself  with  just  this  office 
of  explaining  the  moral  import  of  the  sensible 
world.  To  a  right  perception,  at  once  broad  and 
minute,  of  the  order  of  nature,  he  added  the 
comprehension  of  the  moral  laws  in  their  widest 
social  aspects  ;  but  whatever  he  saw}  through 
some  excessive  determination  to  form  in  his  con 
stitution,  he  saw  not  abstractly,  but  in  pictures, 
heard  it  in  dialogues,  constructed  it  in  events. 
When  he  attempted  to  announce  the  law  most 
sanely,  he  was  forced  to  couch  it  in  parable. 

Modern  psychology  offers  no  similar  example 
of  a  deranged  balance.  The  principal  powers 
continued  to  maintain  a  healthy  action,  and  to 
a  reader  who  can  make  due  allowance  in  the  re 
port  for  the  reporter's  peculiarities,  the  results 
are  still  instructive,  and  a  more  striking  testi 
mony  to  the  sublime  laws  he  announced  than 
any  that  balanced  dulness  could  afford.  He  at 
tempts  to  give  some  account  of  the  modus  of  the  , 
new  state,  affirming  that  "  his  presence  in  the 
spiritual  world  is  attended  with  a  certain  sepa 
ration,  but  only  as  to  the  intellectual  part  of  his 
mind,  not  as  to  the  will  part ; "  and  he  affirms 
that  "  he  sees,  with  the  internal  sight,  the  things 
that  are  in  another  life,  more  clearly  than  he 
sees  the  things  which  are  here  in  the  world." 


120  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

Having  adopted  the  belief  that  certain  books 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  were  exact  al 
legories,  or  written  in  the  angelic  and  ecstatic 
mode,  he  employed  his  remaining  years  in  extri 
cating  from' the  literal,  the  universal  sense.  He 
had  borrowed  from  Plato  the  fine  fable  of  "  a 
most  ancient  people,  men  better  than  we  and 
dwelling  nigher  to  the  gods  ;  "  '  and  Swedenborg 
added  that  they  used  the  earth  symbolically  ; 
that  these,  when  they  saw  terrestrial  objects,  did 
not  think  at  all  about  them,  but  only  about 
those  which  they  signified.  The  correspondence 
between  thoughts  and  things  henceforward  occu 
pied  him.  "  The  very  organic  form  resembles 
the  end  inscribed  on  it."  A  man  is  in  general 
and  in  particular  an  organized  justice  or  injus 
tice,  selfishness  or  gratitude.  And  the  cause  of 
this  harmony  he  assigned  in  the  Arcana :  "  The 
reason  why  all  and  single  things,  in  the  heavens 
and  on  earth,  are  representative,  is  because  they 
exist  from  an  influx  of  the  Lord,  through 
heaven."  This  design  of  exhibiting  such  corre 
spondences,  which,  if  adequately  executed,  would 
be  the  poem  of  the  world,  in  which  all  history 
and  science  would  play  an  essential  part,  was 
narrowed  and  defeated  by  the  exclusively  theo- 
logic  direction  'which  his  inquiries  took.  His 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     121 

perception  of  nature  is  not  human  and  univer 
sal,  but  is  mystical  and  Hebraic.  He  fastens 
each  natural  object  to  a  theologic  notion  ;  —  a 
horse  signifies  carnal  understanding  ;  a  tree,  per 
ception  ;  the  moon,  faith ;  a  cat  means  this ;  an 
ostrich  that ;  an  artichoke  this  other  ;  —  and 
poorly  tethers  every  symbol  to  a  several  eccle 
siastic  sense.  The  slippery  Proteus  is  not  so 
easily  caught.  In  nature,  each  individual  sym 
bol  plays  innumerable  parts,  as  each  particle 
of  matter  circulates  in  turn  through  every  sys 
tem.  The  central  identity  enables  any  one  sym 
bol  to  express  successively  all  the  qualities  and 
shades  of  real  being.  In  the  transmission  of  the 
heavenly  waters,  every  hose  fits  every  hydrant. 
Nature  avenges  herself  speedily  on  the  hard 
pedantry  that  would  chain  her  waves.  She  is  no 
literalist.  Every  thing  must  be  taken  genially, 
and  we  must  be  at  the  top  of  our  condition  to 
understand  any  thing  rightly.1 

His  theological  bias  thus  fatally  narrowed  his 
interpretation  of  nature,  and  the  dictionary  of 
symbols  is  yet  to  be  written.  But  the  interpre 
ter  whom  mankind  must  still  expect,  will  find  no 
predecessor  who  has  approached  so  near  to  the 
true  problem. 

Swedenborg  styles  himself  in  the  title-page 


122  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

of  his  books,  "  Servant  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ ;  "  and  by  force  of  intellect,  and  in  effect, 
he  is  the  last  Father  in  the  Church,  and  is  not 
likely  to  have  a  successor.  No  wonder  that  his 
depth  of  ethical  wisdom  should  give  him  influ 
ence  as  a  teacher.  To  the  withered  traditional 
church,  yielding  dry  catechisms,  he  let  in  nature 
again,  and  the  worshipper,  escaping  from  the 
vestry  of  verbs  and  texts,  is  surprised  to  find 
himself  a  party  to  the  whole  of  his  religion. 
His  religion  thinks  for  him  and  is  of  universal 
application.  He  turns  it  on  every  side;  it  fits 
every  part  of  life,  interprets  and  dignifies  every 
circumstance.1  Instead  of  a  religion  which  vis 
ited  him  diplomatically  three  or  four  times,  — 
when  he  was  born,  when  he  married,  when  he  fell 
sick  and  when  he  died,  and,  for  the  rest,  never 
interfered  with  him, —  here  was  a  teaching  which 
accompanied  him  all  day,  accompanied  him  even 
into  sleep  and  dreams  ;  into  his  thinking,  and 
showed  him  through  what  a  long  ancestry  his 
thoughts  descend ;  into  society,  and  showed  by 
what  affinities  he  was  girt  to  his  equals  and  his 
counterparts  ;  into  natural  objects,  and  showed 
their  origin  and  meaning,  what  are  friendly,  and 
what  are  hurtful ;  and  opened  the  future  world 
by  indicating  the  continuity  of  the  same  laws. 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     123 

His  disciples  allege  that  their  intellect  is  invig 
orated  by  the  study  of  his  books. 

There  is  no  such  problem  for  criticism  as  his 
theological  writings,  their  merits  are  so  com 
manding,  yet  such  grave  deductions  must  be 
made.  Their  immense  and  sandy  diffuseness  is 
like  the  prairie  or  the  desert,  and  their  incongru 
ities  are  like  the  last  deliration.  He  is  superflu 
ously  explanatory,  and  his  feeling  of  the  igno 
rance  of  men,  strangely  exaggerated.  Men  take 
truths  of  this  nature  very  fast.  Yet  he  abounds 
in  assertions,  he  is  a  rich  discoverer,  and  of 
things  which  most  import  us  to  know.  His 
thought  dwells  in  essential  resemblances,  like 
the  resemblance  of  a  house  to  the  man  who 
built  it.  He  saw  things  in  their  law,  in  likeness 
of  function,  not  of  structure.  There  is  an  in 
variable  method  and  order  in  his  delivery  of 
his  truth,  the  habitual  proceeding  of  the  mind 
from  inmost  to  outmost.  What  earnestness 
and  weightiness,  —  his  eye  never  roving,  with 
out  one  swell  of  vanity,  or  one  look  to  self  in 
any  common  form  of  literary  pride!  a  theoretic 
or  speculative  man,  but  whom  no  practical  man 
in  the  universe  could  affect  to  scorn.  Plato  is  a 
gownsman ;  his  garment,  though  of  purple,  and 
almost  sky-woven,  is  an  academic  robe  and  hin- 


124  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ders  action  with  its  voluminous  folds.  But  this 
mystic  is  awful  to  Caesar.  Lycurgus  himself 
would  bow. 

The  moral  insight  of  Swedenborg,  the  correc 
tion  of  popular  errors,  the  announcement  of 
ethical  laws,  take  him  out  of  comparison  with 
any  other  modern  writer  and  entitle  him  to  a 
place,  vacant  for  some  ages,  among  the  lawgivers 
of  mankind.  That  slow  but  commanding  influ 
ence  which  he  has  acquired,  like  that  of  other 
religious  geniuses,  must  be  excessive  also,  and 
have  its  tides,  before  it  subsides  into  a  permanent 
amount.  Of  course  what  is  real  and  universal 
cannot  be  confined  to  the  circle  of  those  who 
sympathize  strictly  with  his  genius,  but  will  pass 
forth  into  the  common  stock  of  wise  and  just 
thinking.  The  world  has  a  sure  chemistry,  by 
which  it  extracts  what  is  excellent  in  its  children 
and  lets  fall  the  infirmities  and  limitations  of  the 
grandest  mind.1 

That  metempsychosis  which  is  familiar  in  the 
old  mythology  of  the  Greeks,  collected  in  Ovid 
and  in  the  Indian  Transmigration,  and  is  there 
objective,  or  really  takes  place  in  bodies  by  alien 
will,  —  in  Swedenborg's  mind  has  a  more  philo 
sophic  character.  It  is  subjective,  or  depends 
entirely  upon  the  thought  of  the  person.  All 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     125 

things  in  the  universe  arrange  themselves  to  each 
person  anew,  according  to  his  ruling  love.  Man 
is  such  as  his  affection  and  thought  are.  Man  is 
man  by  virtue  of  willing,  not  by  virtue  of  know 
ing  and  understanding.  As  he  is,  so  he  sees. 
The  marriages  of  the  world  are  broken  up.  In 
teriors  associate  all  in  the  spiritual  world.  What 
ever  the  angels  looked  upon  was  to  them  celestial. 
Each  Satan  appears  to  himself  a  man  ;  to  those 
as  bad  as  he,  a  comely  man ;  to  the  purified,  a 
heap  of  carrion.  Nothing  can  resist  states :  every 
thing  gravitates  :  like  will  to  like  :  what  we  call 
poetic  justice  takes  effect  on  the  spot.  We  have 
come  into  a  world  which  is  a  living  poem.  Every 
thing  is  as  I  am.  Bird  and  beast  is  not  bird  and 
beast,  but  emanation  and  effluvia  of  the  minds 
and  wills  of  men  there  present.  Every  one  makes 
his  own  house  and  state.  The  ghosts  are  tor 
mented  with  the  fear  of  death  and  cannot  remem 
ber  that  they  have  died.  They  who  are  in  evil 
and 'falsehood  are  afraid  of  all  others.  Such  as 
have  deprived  themselves  of  charity,  wander  and 
flee :  the  societies  which  they  approach  discover 
their  quality  and  drive  them  away.  The  covet 
ous  seem  to  themselves  to  be  abiding  in  cells 
where  their  money  is  deposited,  and  these  to  be 
infested  with  mice.  They  who  place  merit  in 


126  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

good  works  seem  to  themselves  to  cut  wood.  "  I 
asked  such,  if  they  were  not  wearied  ?  They  re 
plied,  that  they  have  not  yet  done  work  enough 
to  merit  heaven." 

He  delivers  golden  sayings  which  express  with 
singular  beauty  the  ethical  laws ;  as  when  he 
uttered  that  famed  sentence, that  "In  heaven  the 
angels  are  advancing  continually  to  the  spring 
time  of  l^ieir  youth,  so  that  the  oldest  angel 
appears  the  youngest:  "  "  The  more  angels,  the 
more  room:"  "The  perfection  of  man  is  the 
love  of  use :  "  "  Man,  in  his  perfect  form,  is 
heaven:"  "What  is  from  Him,  is  Him:" 
"  Ends  always  ascend  as  nature  descends." 
And  the  truly  poetic  account  of  the  writing  in 
the  inmost  heaven,  which,  as  it  consists  of  in 
flexions  according  to  the  form  of  heaven,  can  be 
read  without  instruction.  He  almost  justifies  his 
claim  to  preternatural  vision,  by  strange  insights 
of  the  structure  of  the  human  body  and  mind. 
"  It  is  never  permitted  to  any  one,  in  heaven, 
to  stand  behind  another  and  look  at  the  back 
of  his  head ;  for  then  the  influx  which  is  from 
the  Lord  is  disturbed."  The  angels,  from  the 
sound  of  the  voice,  know  a  man's  love ;  from 
the  articulation  of  the  sound,  his  wisdom  ;  and 
from  the  sense  of  the  words,  his  science. 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     127 

In  the  "  Conjugal  Love,"  he  has  unfolded  the 
science  of  marriage.  Of  this  book  one  would  say 
that  with  the  highest  elements  it  has  failed  of 
success.  It  came  near  to  be  the  Hymn  of  Love, 
which  Plato  attempted  in  the  "  Banquet;"  the 
love,  which,  Dante  says,  Casella  sang  among  the 
angels  in  Paradise ; '  and  which,  as  rightly  cele 
brated,  in  its  genesis,  fruition  and  effect,  might 
well  entrance  the  souls,  as  it  would  lay  open  the 
genesis  of  all  institutions,  customs  and  manners. 
The  book  had  been  grand  if  the  Hebraism  had 
been  omitted  and  the  law  stated  without  Gothi- 
cism,  as  ethics,  and  with  that  scope  for  ascension 
of  state  which  the  nature  of  things  requires.  It 
is  a  fine  Platonic  development  of  the  science  of 
marriage  ;  teaching  that  sex  is  universal,  and  not 
local ;  virility  in  the  male  qualifying  every  organ, 
act,  and  thought;  and  the  feminine  in  woman. 
Therefore  in  the  real  or  spiritual  world  the  nup 
tial  union  is  not  momentary,  but  incessant  and 
total ;  and  chastity  not  a  local,  but  a  universal 
virtue ;  unchastity  being  discovered  as  much  in 
the  trading,  or  planting,  or  speaking,  or  phi 
losophizing,  as  in  generation  ;  and  that,  though 
the  virgins  he  saw  in  heaven  were  beautiful,  the 
wives  were  incomparably  more  beautiful,  and 
went  on  increasing  in  beauty  evermore. 


128  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

Yet  Svvedenborg,  after  his  mode,  pinned  his 
theory  to  a  temporary  form.  He  exaggerates  the 
circumstance  of  marriage  ;  and  though  he  finds 
false  marriages  on  earth,  fancies  a  wiser  choice  in 
heaven.  But  of  progressive  souls,  all  loves  and 
friendships  are  momentary.  Do  you  love  me? 
means,  Do  you  see  the  same  truth  ?  If  you  do, 
we  are  happy  with  the  same  happiness  :  but  pre 
sently  one  of  us  passes  into  the  perception  of  new 
truth  ;  —  we  are  divorced,  and  no  tension  in  na 
ture  can  hold  us  to  each  other.  I  know  how  deli 
cious  is  this  cup  of  love,  —  I  existing  for  you, 
you  existing  for  me  ;  but  it  is  a  child's  clinging 
to  his  toy  ;  an  attempt  to  eternize  the  fireside 
and  nuptial  chamber  ;  to  keep  the  picture-alpha 
bet  through  which  our  first  lessons  are  prettily 
conveyed.  The  Eden  of  God  is  bare  and  grand : 
like  the  out-door  landscape  remembered  from 
the  evening  fireside,  it  seems  cold  and  desolate 
whilst  you  cower  over  the  coals,  but  once  abroad 
again,  we  pity  those  who  can  forego  the  magnifi 
cence  of  nature  for  candle-light  and  cards.  Per 
haps  the  true  subject  of  the  "  Conjugal  Love  " 
is  Conversation,  whose  laws  are  profoundly  set 
forth.  It  is  false,  if  literally  applied  to  marriage. 
For  God  is  the  bride  or  bridegroom  of  the  soul. 
Heaven  is  not  the  pairing  of  two,  but  the  com- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     129 

munion  of  all  souls.  We  meet,  and  dwell  an 
instant  under  the  temple  of  one  thought,  and 
part,  as  though  we  parted  not,  to  join  another 
thought  in  other  fellowships  of  joy.  So  far  from 
there  being  anything  divine  in  the  low  and  pro 
prietary  sense  of  Do  you  love  me  ?  it  is  only  when 
you  leave  and  lose  me  by  casting  yourself  on  a 
sentiment  which  is  higher  than  both  of  us,  that 
I  draw  near  and  find  myself  at  your  side ;  and 
I  am  repelled  if  you  fix  your  eye  on  me  and  de 
mand  love.  In  fact,  in  the  spiritual  world  we 
change  sexes  every  moment.  You  love  the  worth 
in  me ;  then  I  am  your  husband :  but  it  is  not 
me,  but  the  worth,  that  fixes  the  love  ;  and  that 
worth  is  a  drop  of  the  ocean  of  worth  that  is  be 
yond  me.  Meantime  I  adore  the  greater  worth 
in  another,  and  so  become  his  wife.  He  aspires 
to  a  higher  worth  in  another  spirit,  and  is  wife 
or  receiver  of  that  influence.1 

Whether  from  a  self-inquisitorial  habit  that  he 
grew  into  from  jealousy  of  the  sins  to  which  men 
of  thought  are  liable,  he  has  acquired,  in  disen 
tangling  and  demonstrating  that  particular  form 
of  moral  disease,  an  acumen  which  no  conscience 
can  resist.  I  refer  to  his  feeling  of  the  profana 
tion  of  thinking  to  what  is  good,  "  from  scien- 


130  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

tifics."  "  To  reason  about  faith,  is  to  doubt  and 
deny."  He  was  painfully  alive  to  the  difference 
between  knowing  and  doing,  and  this  sensibility 
is  incessantly  expressed.  Philosophers  are,  there 
fore,  vipers,  cockatrices,  asps,  hemorrhoids,  pres- 
ters,  and  flying  serpents ;  literary  men  are  con 
jurors  and  charlatans. 

But  this  topic  suggests  a  sad  afterthought,  that 
here  we  find  the  seat  of  his  own  pain.  Possibly 
Swedenborg  paid  the  penalty  of  introverted  fac 
ulties.  Success,  or  a  fortunate  genius,  seems  to 
depend  on  a  happy  adjustment  of  heart  and 
brain ;  on  a  due  proportion,  hard  to  hit,  of  moral 
and  mental  power,  which  perhaps  obeys  the  law 
of  those  chemical  ratios  which  make  a  propor 
tion  in  volumes  necessary  to  combination,  as 
when  gases  will  combine  in  certain  fixed  rates, 
but  not  at  any  rate.  It  is  hard  to  carry  a  full 
cup ;  and  this  man,  profusely  endowed  in  heart 
and  mind,  early  fell  into  dangerous  discord  with 
himself.  In  his  Animal  Kingdom  he  surprised 
us  by  declaring  that  he  loved  analysis,  and  not 
synthesis ;  and  now,  after  his  fiftieth  year,  he 
falls  into  jealousy  of  his  intellect ;  and  though 
aware  that  truth  is  not  solitary  nor  is  goodness 
solitary,  but  both  must  ever  mix  and  marry,  he 
makes  war  on  his  mind,  takes  the  part  of  the  con- 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     131 

science  against  it,  and,  on  all  occasions,  traduces 
and  blasphemes  it.  The  violence  is  instantly 
avenged.  Beauty  is  disgraced,  love  is  unlovely, 
when  truth,  the  half  part  of  heaven,  is  denied, 
as  much  as  when  a  bitterness  in  men  of  talent 
leads  to  satire  and  destroys  the  judgment.  He 
is  wise,  but  wise  in  his  own  despite.  There  is 
an  air  of  infinite  grief  and  the  sound  of  wailing 
all  over  and  through  this  lurid  universe.  A 
vampyre  sits  in  the  seat  of  the  prophet  and  turns 
with  gloomy  appetite  to  the  images  of  pain.  In 
deed,  a  bird  does  not  more  readily  weave  its  nest, 
or  a  mole  bore  into  the  ground,  than  this  seer 
of  the  souls  substructs  a  new  hell  and  pit,  each 
more  abominable  than  the  last,  round  every  new 
crew  of  offenders.  He  was  let  down  through  a 
column  that  seemed  of  brass,  but  it  was  formed 
of  angelic  spirits,  that  he  might  descend  safely 
amongst  the  unhappy,  and  witness  the  vastation 
of  souls  and  hear  there,  for  a  long  continuance, 
their  lamentations  :  he  saw  their  tormentors, 
who  increase  and  strain  pangs  to  infinity  ;  he  saw 
the  hell  of  the  jugglers,  the  hell  of  the  assassins, 
the  hell  of  the  lascivious ;  the  hell  of  robbers, 
who  kill  and  boil  men ;  the  infernal  tun  of  the 
deceitful ;  the  excrementitious  hells  ;  the  hell  of 
the  revengeful,  whose  faces  resembled  a  round, 


132  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

broad  cake,  and  their  arms  rotate  like  a  wheel. 
Except  Rabelais  and  Dean  Swift  nobody  ever 
had  such  science  of  filth  and  corruption. 

These  books  should  be  used  with  caution. 
It  is  dangerous  to  sculpture  these  evanescing 
images  of  thought.  True  in  transition,  they 
become  false  if  fixed.  It  requires,  for  his  just 
apprehension,  almost  a  genius  equal  to  his  own. 
But  when  his  visions  become  the  stereotyped 
language  of  multitudes  of  persons  of  all  degrees 
of  age  and  capacity,  they  are  perverted.  The 
wise  people  of  the  Greek  race  were  accustomed 
to  lead  the  most  intelligent  and  virtuous  young 
men,  as  part  of  their  education,  through  the 
Eleusinian  mysteries,  wherein,  with  much  pomp 
and  graduation,  the  highest  truths  known  to 
ancient  wisdom  were  taught.  An  ardent  and 
contemplative  young  man,  at  eighteen  or  twenty 
years,  might  read  once  these  books  of  Sweden- 
borg,  these  mysteries  of  love  and  conscience, 
and  then  throw  them  aside  for  ever.1  Genius  is 
ever  haunted  by  similar  dreams,  when  the  hells 
and  the  heavens  are  opened  to  it.  But  these 
pictures  are  to  be  held  as  mystical,  that  is,  as 
a  quite  arbitrary  and  accidental  picture  of  the 
truth,  —  not  as  the  truth.  Any  other  symbol 
would  be  as  good  ;  then  this  is  safely  seen. 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     133 

Swedenborg's  system  of  the  world  wants  cen 
tral  spontaneity ;  it  is  dynamic,  not  vital,  and 
lacks  power  to  generate  life.  There  is  no  indi 
vidual  in  it.  The  universe  is  a  gigantic  crystal, 
all  whose  atoms  and  laminae  lie  in  uninterrupted 
order  and  with  unbroken  unity,  but  cold  and 
still.  What  seems  an  individual  and  a  will,  is 
none.  There  is  an  immense  chain  of  intermedi 
ation,  extending  from  centre  to  extremes,  which 
bereaves  every  agency  of  all  freedom  and  charac 
ter.1  The  universe,  in  his  poem,  suffers  under 
a  magnetic  sleep,  and  only  reflects  the  mind  of 
the  magnetizer.  Every  thought  comes  into  each 
mind  by  influence  from  a  society  of  spirits  that 
surround  it,  and  into  these  from  a  higher  so- 

*  D 

ciety,  and  so  on.  All  his  types  mean  the  same 
few  things.  All  his  figures  speak  one  speech. 
All  his  interlocutors  Swedenborgize.  Be  they 
who  they  may,  to  this  complexion  must  they 
come  at  last.  This  Charon  ferries  them  all  over 
in  his  boat ;  kings,  counsellors,  cavaliers,  doc 
tors,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Sir  Hans  Sloane,  King 
George  II.,  Mahomet,  or  whomsoever,  and  all 
gather  one  grimness  of  hue  and  style.  Only 
when  Cicero  comes  by,  our  gentle  seer  sticks  a 
little  at  saying  he  talked  with  Cicero,  and  with 
a  touch  of  human  relenting  remarks,  "one 


134  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

whom  it  was  given  me  to  believe  was  Cicero  ; " 
and  when  the  soi  disant  Roman  opens  his 
mouth,  Rome  and  eloquence  have  ebbed  away, 
—  it  is  plain  theologic  Swedenborg  like  the  rest. 
His  heavens  and  hells  are  dull ;  fault  of  want 
of  individualism.  The  thousand-fold  relation 
of  men  is  not  there.  The  interest  that  attaches 
in  nature  to  each  man,  because  he  is  right  by  his 
wrong,  and  wrong  by  his  right ;  because  he  de 
fies  all  dogmatizing  and  classification,  so  many 
allowances  and  contingences  and  futurities  are 
to  be  taken  into  account ;  strong  by  his  vices, 
often  paralyzed  by  his  virtues ;  —  sinks  into 
entire  sympathy  with  his  society.  This  want  re 
acts  to  the  centre  of  the  system.  Though  the 
agency  of  "  the  Lord  "  is  in  every  line  referred 
to  by  name,  it  never  becomes  alive.  There  is  no 
lustre  in  that  eye  which  gazes  from  the  centre 
and  which  should  vivify  the  immense  depend 
ency  of  beings.1 

The  vice  of  Swedenborg's  mind  is  its  theo 
logic  determination.  Nothing  with  him  has  the 
liberality  of  universal  wisdom,  but  we  are  always 
in  a  church.  That  Hebrew  muse,  which  taught 
the  lore  of  right  and  wrong  to  men,  had  the 
same  excess  of  influence  for  him  it  has  had  for 
the  nations.  The  mode,  as  well  as  the  essence, 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     135 

was  sacred.  Palestine  is  ever  the  more  valuable 
as  a  chapter  in  universal  history,  and  ever  the 
less  an  available  element  in  education.1  The 
genius  of  Swedenborg,  largest  of  all  modern 
souls  in  this  department  of  thought,  wasted  it 
self  in  the  endeavor  to  reanimate  and  conserve 
what  had  already  arrived  at  its  natural  term, 
and,  in  the  great  secular  Providence,  was  retir 
ing  from  its  prominence,  before  Western  modes 
of  thought  and  expression.  Swedenborg  and 
Behmen  both  failed  by  attaching  themselves  to 
the  Christian  symbol,  instead  of  to  the  moral 
sentiment,  which  carries  innumerable  Christiani 
ties,  humanities,  divinities,  in  its  bosom. 

The  excess  of  influence  shows  itself  in  the 
incongruous  importation  of  a  foreign  rhetoric. 
*  What  have  I  to  do,'  asks  the  impatient  reader, 
f  with  jasper  and  sardonyx,  beryl  and  chalced 
ony  ;  what  with  arks  and  passovers,  ephahs 
and  ephods ;  what  with  lepers  and  emerods ; 
what  with  heave-offerings  and  unleavened  bread, 
chariots  of  fire,  dragons  crowned  and  horned, 
behemoth  and  unicorn  ?  Good  for  Orientals, 
these  are  nothing  to  me.  The  more  learning 
you  bring  to  explain  them,  the  more  glaring 
the  impertinence.  The  more  coherent  and 
elaborate  the  system,  the  less  I  like  it.  I  say, 


136  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

with  the  Spartan,  "  Why  do  you  speak  so  much 
to  the  purpose,  of  that  which  is  nothing  to  the 
purpose  ?  "  '  My  learning  is  such  as  God  gave 
me  in  my  birth  and  habit,  in  the  delight  and 
study  of  my  eyes  and  not  of  another  man's. 
Of  all  absurdities,  this  of  some  foreigner  pro 
posing  to  take  away  my  rhetoric  and  substitute 
his  own,  and  amuse  me  with  pelican  and  stork, 
instead  of  thrush  and  robin ;  palm-trees  and 
shittim-wood,  instead  of  sassafras  and  hickory, 
—  seems  the  most  needless.' 

Locke  said,  "  God,  when  he  makes  the 
prophet,  does  not  unmake  the  man."  Sweden- 
borg's  history  points  the  remark.  The  parish 
disputes  in  the  Swedish  church  between  the 
friends  and  foes  of  Luther  and  Melancthon,  con 
cerning  "  faith  alone  "  and  "  works  alone,"  in 
trude  themselves  into  his  speculations  upon  the 
economy  of  the  universe,  and  of  the  celestial 
societies.  The  Lutheran  bishop's  son,  for  whom 
the  heavens  are  opened,  so  that  he  sees  with 
eyes  and  in  the  richest  symbolic  forms  the 
awful  truth  of  things,  and  utters  again  in  his 
books,  as  under  a  heavenly  mandate,  the  in 
disputable  secrets  of  moral  nature,  —  with  all 
these  grandeurs  resting  upon  him,  remains  the 
Lutheran  bishop's  son  ;  his  judgments  are  those 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     137 

of  a  Swedish  polemic,  and  his  vast  enlargements 
purchased  by  adamantine  limitations.  He  car 
ries  his  controversial  memory  with  him  in  his 
visits  to  the  souls.  He  is  like  Michael  Angelo, 
who,  in  his  frescoes,  put  the  cardinal  who  had 
offended  him  to  roast  under  a  mountain  of  dev 
ils  ;  or  like  Dante,  who  avenged,  in  vindictive 
melodies,  all  his  private  wrongs ;  or  perhaps 
still  more  like  Montaigne's  parish  priest,  who, 
if  a  hail-storm  passes  over  the  village,  thinks 
the  day  of  doom  is  come,  and  the  cannibals  al 
ready  have  got  the  pip.  Swedenborg  confounds 
us  not  less  with  the  pains  of  Melancthon  and 
Luther  and  Wolfius,  and  his  own  books,  which 
he  advertises  among  the  angels. 

Under  the  same  theologic  cramp,  many  of  his 
dogmas  are  bound.  His  cardinal  position  in 
morals  is  that  evils  should  be  shunned  as  sins. 
But  he  does  not  know  what  evil  is,  or  what  good 
is,  who  thinks  any  ground  remains  to  be  occu 
pied,  after  saying  that  evil  is  to  be  shunned  as 
evil.  I  doubt  not  he  was  led  by  the  desire  to 
insert  the  element  of  personality  of  Deity.  But 
nothing  is  added.  One  man,  you  say,  dreads 
erysipelas,  —  show  him  that  this  dread  is  evil : 
or,  one  dreads  hell,  —  show  him  that  dread  is 
evil.  He  who  loves  goodness,  harbors  angels, 


138  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

reveres  reverence  and  lives  with  God.  The  less 
we  have  to  do  with  our  sins  the  better.  No  man 
can  afford  to  waste  his  moments  in  compunc 
tions.  "  That  is  active  duty,"  say  the  Hindoos, 
"  which  is  not  for  our  bondage ;  that  is  know 
ledge,  which  is  for  our  liberation  :  all  other  duty 
is  good  only  unto  weariness." 

Another  dogma,  growing  out  of  this  perni 
cious  theologic  limitation,  is  his  Inferno.  Swe-f 
denborg  has  devils.  Evil,  according  to  old  phi 
losophers,  is  good  in  the  making.  That  pure 
malignity  can  exist  is  the  extreme  proposition 
of  unbelief.  It  is  not  to  be  entertained  by  a 
rational  agent ;  it  is  atheism  ;  it  is  the  last  profa 
nation.  Euripides  rightly  said,  — 

"  Goodness  and  being  in  the  gods  are  one  ; 

He  who  imputes  ill  to  them  makes  them  none. ' '  * 

To  what  a  painful  perversion  had  Gothic  the 
ology  arrived,  that  Swedenborg  admitted  no 
conversion  for  evil  spirits  !  But  the  divine  ef 
fort  is  never  relaxed ;  the  carrion  in  the  sun  will 
convert  itself  to  grass  and  flowers;  and  man, 
though  in  brothels,  or  jails,  or  on  gibbets,  is  on 
his  way  to  all  that  is  good  and  true.2  Burns, 
with  the  wild  humor  of  his  apostrophe  to  poor 
"auld  Nickie  Ben," 

"  O  wad  ye  tak  a  thought,  and  mend  !  " 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     139 

has  the  advantage  of  the  vindictive  theologian. 
Every  thing  is  superficial  and  perishes  but  love 
and  truth  only.  The  largest  is  always  the  truest 
sentiment,  and  we  feel  the  more  generous-spirit 
of  the  Indian  Vishnu,  —  "I  am  the  same  to 
all  mankind.  There  is  not  one  who  is  worthy 
of  my  love  or  hatred.  They  who  serve  me  with 
adoration,  —  I  am  in  them,  and  they  in  me.  If 
one  whose  ways  are  altogether  evil  serve  me 
alone,  he  is  as  respectable  as  the  just  man  ;  he  is 
altogether  well  employed  ;  he  soon  becometh  of 
a  virtuous  spirit  and  obtaineth  eternal  happi 
ness." 

For  the  anomalous  pretension  of  Revelations 
of  the  other  world,  —  only  his  probity  and 
genius  can  entitle  it  to  any  serious  regard.  His 
revelations  destroy  their  credit  by  running  into 
detail.  If  a  man  say  that  the  Holy  Ghost  has 
informed  him  that  the  Last  Judgment  (or  the 
last  of  the  judgments)  took  place  in  1757; 
or  that  the  Dutch,  in  the  other  world,  live  in 
a  heaven  by  themselves,  and  the  English  in  a 
heaven  by  themselves;  I  reply  that  the  Spirit 
which  is  holy  is  reserved,  taciturn,  and  deals  in 
laws.  The  rumors  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins 
gossip  and  tell  fortunes.  The  teachings  of  the 
high  Spirit  are  abstemious,  and,  in  regard  to 


i4o  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

particulars,  negative.  Socrates's  Genius  did  not 
advise  him  to  act  or  to  find,  but  if  he  purposed 
to  do  somewhat  not  advantageous,  it  dissuaded 
him.  "  What  God  is,"  he  said,  "  I  know  not ; 
what  he  is  not,  I  know."  The  Hindoos  have 
denominated  the  Supreme  Being,  the  "  Internal 
Check."  The  illuminated  Quakers  explained 
their  Light,  not  as  somewhat  which  leads  to  any 
action,  but  it  appears  as  an  obstruction  to  any 
thing  unfit.1  But  the  right  examples  are  private 
experiences,  which  are  absolutely  at  one  on  this 
point.  Strictly  speaking,  Swedenborg's  revela 
tion  is  a  confounding  of  planes,  —  a  capital  of 
fence  in  so  learned  a  categorist.  This  is  to  carry 
the  law  of  surface  into  the  plane  of  substance, 
to  carry  individualism  and  its  fopperies  into  the 
realm  of  essences  and  generals,  —  which  is  dislo 
cation  and  chaos. 

The  secret  of  heaven  is  kept  from  age  to  age. 
No  imprudent,  no  sociable  angel  ever  dropt  an 
early  syllable  to  answer  the  longings  of  saints, 
the  fears  of  mortals.  We  should  have  listened 
on  our  knees  to  any  favorite,  who,  by  stricter 
obedience,  had  brought  his  thoughts  into  paral 
lelism  with  the  celestial  currents  and  could  hint 
to  human  ears  the  scenery  and  circumstance  of 
the  newly  parted  soul.  But  it  is  certain  that  it 


SWEDENBORG;   OR,  THE  MYSTIC     141 

must  tally  with  what  is  best  in  nature.  It  must 
not  be  inferior  in  tone  to  the  already  known 
works  of  the  artist  who  sculptures  the  globes 
of  the  firmament  and  writes  the  moral  law.  It 
must  be  fresher  than  rainbows,  stabler  than 
mountains,  agreeing  with  flowers,  with  tides 
and  the  rising  and  setting  of  autumnal  stars. 
Melodious  poets  shall  be  hoarse  as  street  bal 
lads  when  once  the  penetrating  key-note  of 
nature  and  spirit  is  sounded,  —  the  earth-beat, 
sea-beat,  heart-beat,  which  makes  the  tune  to 
which  the  sun  rolls,  and  the  globule  of  blood, 
and  the  sap  of  trees. 

In  this  mood  we  hear  the  rumor  that  the  seer 
has  arrived,  and  his  tale  is  told.  But  there  is  no 
beauty,  no  heaven  :  for  angels,  goblins.  The  sad 
muse  loves  night  and  death  and  the  pit.  His  In 
ferno  is  mesmeric.  His  spiritual  world  bears  the 
same  relation  to  the  generosities  and  joys  of  truth 
of  which  human  souls  have  already  made  us  cog 
nizant,  as  a  man's  bad  dreams  bear  to  his  ideal 
life.1  It  is  indeed  very  like,  in  its  endless  power 
of  lurid  pictures,  to  the  phenomena  of  dream 
ing,  which  nightly  turns  many  an  honest  gentle 
man,  benevolent  but  dyspeptic,  into  a  wretch, 
skulking  like  a  dog  about  the  outer  yards  and 
kennels  of  creation.  When  he  mounts  into  the 


142  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

heaven,  I  do  not  hear  its  language.  A  man  should 
not  tell  me  that  he  has  walked  among  the  angels ; 
his  proof  is  that  his  eloquence  makes  me  one. 
Shall  the  archangels  be  less  majestic  and  sweet 
than  the  figures  that  have  actually  walked  the 
earth  ?  These  angels  that  Swedenborg  paints 
give  us  no  very  high  idea  of  their  discipline  and 
culture  :  they  are  all  country  parsons  :  their  hea 
ven  is  a.  fete  champetre,  an  evangelical  picnic,  or 
French  distribution  of  prizes  to  virtuous  peas 
ants.  Strange,  scholastic,  didactic,  passionless, 
bloodless  man,  who  denotes  classes  of  souls  as  a 
botanist  disposes  of  a  carex,  and  visits  doleful 
hells  as  a  stratum  of  chalk  or  hornblende  !  He 
has  no  sympathy.  He  goes  up  and  down  the 
world  of  men,  a  modern  Rhadamanthus  in  gold- 
headed  cane  and  peruke,  and  with  nonchalance 
and  the  air  of  a  referee,  distributes  souls.  The 
warm,  many -weathered,  passionate -peopled 
world  is  to  him  a  grammar  of  hieroglyphs,  or  an 
emblematic  freemason's  procession.  How  dif 
ferent  is  Jacob  Behmen  !  he  is  tremulous  with 
emotion  and  listens  awe-struck,  with  the  gentlest 
humanity,  to  the  Teacher  whose  lessons  he  con 
veys  ;  and  when  he  asserts  that,  "  in  some  sort, 
love  is  greater  than  God,"  his  heart  beats  so  high 
that  the  thumping  against  his  leathern  coat  is 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     143 

audible  across  the  centuries.  'T  is  a  great  differ 
ence.  Behmen  is  healthily  and  beautifully  wise, 
notwithstanding  the  mystical  narrowness  and  in- 
communicableness.1  Swedenborg  is  disagreeably 
wise,  and  with  all  his  accumulated  gifts,  para 
lyzes  and  repels. 

It  is  the  best  sign  of  a  great  nature  that  it 
opens  a  foreground,  and,  like  the  breath  of  morn 
ing  landscapes,  invites  us  onward.  Swedenborg 
is  retrospective,  nor  can  we  divest  him  of  his 
mattock  and  shroud.  Some  minds  are  for  ever 
restrained  from  descending  into  nature  ;  others 
are  for  ever  prevented  from  ascending  out  of  it. 
With  a  force  of  many  men,  he  could  never  break 
the  umbilical  cord  which  held  him  to  nature,  and 
he  did  not  rise  to  the  platform  of  pure  genius. 

It  is  remarkable  that  this  man,  who,  by  his 
perception  of  symbols,  saw  the  poetic  construc 
tion  of  things  and  the  primary  relation  of  mind 
to  matter,  remained  entirely  devoid  of  the  whole 
apparatus  of  poetic  expression,  which  that  per 
ception  creates.  He  knew  the  grammar  and  rudi 
ments  of  the  Mother-Tongue,  —  how  could  he 
not  read  off  one  strain  into  music  ?  Was  he  like 
Saadi,  who,  in  his  vision,  designed  to  fill  his  lap 
with  the  celestial  flowers,  as  presents  for  his 
friends  ;  but  the  fragrance  of  the  roses  so  intoxi- 


144  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

cated  him  that  the  skirt  dropped  from  his  hands? 
or  is  reporting  a  breach  of  the  manners  of  that 
heavenly  society  ?  or  was  it  that  he  saw  the  vision 
intellectually,  and  hence  that  chiding  of  the  in 
tellectual  that  pervades  his  books  ?  Be  it  as  it 
may,  his  books  have  no  melody,  no  emotion, 
no  humor,  no  relief  to  the  dead  prosaic  level. 
In  his  profuse  and  accurate  imagery  is  no  plea 
sure,  for  there  is  no  beauty.  We  wander  forlorn 
in  a  lack-lustre  landscape.  No  bird  ever  sang  in 
all  these  gardens  of  the  dead.  The  entire  want 
of  poetry  in  so  transcendent  a  mind  betokens 
the  disease,  and  like  a  hoarse  voice  in  a  beauti 
ful  person,  is  a  kind  of  warning.  I  think,  some 
times,  he  will  not  be  read  longer.  His  great  name 
will  turn  a  sentence.  His  books  have  become  a 
monument.  His  laurel  so  largely  mixed  with 
cypress,  a  charnel-breath  so  mingles  with  the 
temple  incense,  that  boys  and  maids  will  shun 
the  spot. 

Yet  in  this  immolation  of  genius  and  fame 
at  the  shrine  of  conscience,  is  a  merit  sublime 
beyond  praise.  He  lived  to  purpose :  he  gave 
a  verdict.  He  elected  goodness  as  the  clue  to 
which  the  soul  must  cling  in  all  this  labyrinth 
of  nature.  Many  opinions  conflict  as  to  the  true 
centre.  In  the  shipwreck,  some  cling  to  running 


SWEDENBORG;    OR,  THE  MYSTIC     145 

rigging,  some  to  cask  and  barrel,  some  to  spars, 
some  to  mast;  the  pilot  chooses  with  science, — 
I  plant  myself  here ;  all  will  sink  before  this  ; 
"  he  comes  to  land  who  sails  with  me."  '  Do  not 
rely  on  heavenly  favor,  or  on  compassion  to 
folly,  or  on  prudence,  on  common  sense,  the 
old  usage  and  main  chance  of  men  :  nothing  can 
keep  you,  —  not  fate,  nor  health,  nor  admirable 
intellect ;  none  can  keep  you,  but  rectitude  only, 
rectitude  for  ever  and  ever  !  And  with  a  tenacity 
that  never  swerved  in  all  his  studies,  inventions, 
dreams,  he  adheres  to  this  brave  choice.  I  think 
of  him  as  of  some  transmigrating  votary  of  In 
dian  legend,  who  says  '  Though  I  be  dog,  or 
jackal,  or  pismire,  in  the  last  rudiments  of  na 
ture,  under  what  integument  or  ferocity,  I  cleave 
to  right,  as  the  sure  ladder  that  leads  up  to  man 
and  to  God.' 2 

Swedenborg  has  rendered  a  double  service  to 
mankind,  which  is  now  only  beginning  to  be 
known.  By  the  science  of  experiment  and  use, 
he  made  his  first  steps :  he  observed  and  pub 
lished  the  laws  of  nature;  and  ascending  by  just 
degrees  from  events  to  their  summits  and  causes, 
he  was  fired  with  piety_at  the  harmonies  he  felt, 
and  abandoned  himself  to  his  joy  and  worship. 
This  was  his  first  service.  If  the  glory  was  too 


146  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

bright  for  his  eyes  to  bear,  if  he  staggered  under 
the  trance  of  delight,  the  more  excellent  is  the 
spectacle  he  saw,  the  realities  of  being  which 
beam  and  blaze  through  him,  and  which  no  in 
firmities  of  the  prophet  are  suffered  to  obscure; 
and  he  renders  a  second  passive  service  to  men, 
not  less  than  the  first,  perhaps,  in  the  great  circle 
of  being,  —  and,  in  the  retributions  of  spiritual 
nature,  not  less  glorious  or  less  beautiful  to  him 
self. 


IV 
MONTAIGNE;    OR,   THE   SKEPTIC 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE 
SKEPTIC 

EVERY  fact  is  related  on  one  side  to  sensa 
tion,  and  on  the  other  to  morals.  The 
game  of  thought  is,  on  the  appearance  of  one 
of  these  two  sides,  to  find  the  other :  given  the 
upper,  to  find  the  under  side.  Nothing  so  thin 
but  has  these  two  faces,  and  when  the  observer 
has  seen  the  obverse,  he  turns  it  over  to  see  the 
reverse.1  Life  is  a  pitching  of  this  penny, — 
heads  or  tails.  We  never  tire  of  this  game,  be 
cause  there  is  still  a  slight  shudder  of  astonish 
ment  at  the  exhibition  of  the  other  face,  at  the 
contrast  of  the  two  faces.  A  man  is  flushed  with 
success,  and  bethinks  himself  what  this  good 
luck  signifies.  He  drives  his  bargain  in  the 
street;  but  it  occurs  that  he  also  is  bought  and 
sold.  He  sees  the  beauty  of  a  human  face,  and 
searches  the  cause  of  that  beauty,  which  must  be 
more  beautiful.  He  builds  his  fortunes,  main 
tains  the  laws,  cherishes  his  children;  but  he  asks 
himself,  Why?  and  whereto  ?  This  head  and  this 
tail  are  called,  in  the  language  of  philosophy, 
Infinite  and  Finite;  Relative  and  Absolute;  Ap 
parent  and  Real;  and  many  fine  names  beside. 


ISO  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

Each  man  is  born  with  a  predisposition  to  one 
or  the  other  of  these  sides  of  nature  ;  and  it  will 
easily  happen  that  men  will  be  found  devoted  to 
one  or  the  other.  One  class  has  the  perception 
of  difference,  and  is  conversant  with  facts  and 
surfaces,  cities  and  persons,  and  the  bringing 
certain  things  to  pass  ;  —  the  men  of  talent  and 
action.  Another  class  have  the  perception  of 
identity,  and  are  men  of  faith  and  philosophy, 
men  of  genius.1 

Each  of  these  riders  drives  too  fast.  Plotinus 
believes  only  in  philosophers;  Fenelon,  in  saints; 
Pindar  and  Byron,  in  poets.  Read  the  haughty 
language  in  which  Plato  and  the  Platonists  speak 
of  all  men  who  are  not  devoted  to  their  own  shin 
ing  abstractions :  other  men  are  rats  and  mice. 
The  literary  class  is  usually  proud  and  exclusive. 
The  correspondence  of  Pope  and  Swift  describes 
mankind  around  them  as  monsters  ;  and  that  of 
Goethe  and  Schiller,  in  our  own  time,  is  scarcely 
more  kind.2 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  this  arrogance  comes. 
The  genius  is  a  genius  by  the  first  look  he  casts 
on  any  object.  Is  his  eye  creative  ?  Does  he  not 
rest  in  angles  and  colors,  but  beholds  the  de 
sign? —  he  will  presently  undervalue  the  actual 
object.  In  powerful  moments,  his  thought  has 


MONTAIGNE  5    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     151 

dissolved  the  works  of  art  and  nature  into  their 
causes,  so  that  the  works  appear  heavy  and  faulty. 
He  has  a  conception  of  beauty  which  the  sculp 
tor  cannot  embody.  Picture,  statue,  temple, 
railroad,  steam-engine,  existed  first  in  an  artist's 
mind,  without  flaw,  mistake,  or  friction,  which 
impair  the  executed  models.1  So  did  the  Church, 
the  State,  college,  court,  social  circle,  and  all  the 
institutions.  It  is  not  strange  that  these  men, 
remembering  what  they  have  seen  and  hoped  of 
ideas,  should  affirm  disdainfully  the  superiority 
of  ideas.  Having  at  some  time  seen  that  the 
happy  soul  will  carry  all  the  arts  in  power,  they 
say,  Why  cumber  ourselves  with  superfluous 
realizations  ?  and  like  dreaming  beggars  they 
assume  to  speak  and  act  as  if  these  values  were 
already  substantiated. 

On  the  other  part,  the  men  of  toil  and  trade 
and  luxury,  —  the  animal  world,  including  the 
animal  in  the  philosopher  and  poet  also,  and  the 
practical  world,  including  the  painful  drudgeries 
which  are  never  excused  to  philosopher  or  poet 
any  more  than  to  the  rest,  —  weigh  heavily  on 
the  other  side.  The  trade  in  our  streets  believes 
in  no  metaphysical  causes,  thinks  nothing  of  the 
force  which  necessitated  traders  and  a  trading 
planet  to  exist :  no,  but  sticks  to  cotton,  sugar, 


152  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

wool  and  salt.  The  ward  meetings,  on  election 
days,  are  not  softened  by  any  misgiving  of  the 
value  of  these  ballotings.1  Hot  life  is  streaming 
in  a  single  direction.  To  the  men  of  this  world, 
to  the  animal  strength  and  spirits,  to  the  men  of 
practical  power,  whilst  immersed  in  it,  the  man 
of  ideas  appears  out  of  his  reason.  They  alone 
have  reason. 

Things  always  bring  their  own  philosophy 
with  them,  that  is,  prudence.  No  man  acquires 
property  without  acquiring  with  it  a  little  arith 
metic  also.  In  England,  the  richest  country  that 
ever  existed,  property  stands  for  more,  compared 
with  personal  ability,  than  in  any  other.  After 
dinner,  a  man  believes  less,  denies  more  :  verities 
have  lost  some  charm.  After  dinner,  arithmetic 
is  the  only  science:  ideas  are  disturbing,  incen 
diary,  follies  of  young  men,  repudiated  by  the 
solid  portion  of  society :  and  a  man  comes  to 
be  valued  by  his  athletic  and  animal  qualities. 
Spence  relates  that  Mr.  Pope  was  with  Sir  God 
frey  Kneller  one  day,  when  his  nephew,  a  Guinea 
trader,  came  in.  "  Nephew,"  said  Sir  Godfrey, 
"  you  have  the  honor  of  seeing  the  two  greatest 
men  in  the  world."  "  I  don't  know  how  great 
men  you  may  be,"  said  the  Guinea  man,  "  but 
I  don't  like  your  looks.  I  have  often  bought  a 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     153 

man  much  better  than  both  of  you,  all  muscles 
and  bones,  for  ten  guineas."  Thus  the  men  of 
the  senses  revenge  themselves  on  the  professors 
and  repay  scorn  for  scorn.  The  first  had  leaped 
to  conclusions  not  yet  ripe,  and  say  more  than 
is  true ;  the  others  make  themselves  merry  with 
the  philosopher,  and  weigh  man  by  the  pound. 
They  believe  that  mustard  bites  the  tongue,  that 
pepper  is  hot,  friction-matches  incendiary,  re 
volvers  are  to  be  avoided,  and  suspenders  hold 
up  pantaloons  ;  that  there  is  much  sentiment  in 
a  chest  of  tea ;  and  a  man  will  be  eloquent,  if 
you  give  him  good  wine.  Are  you  tender  and 
scrupulous,  —  you  must  eat  more  mince-pie. 
They  hold  that  Luther  had  milk  in  him  when 
he  said, — 

«'  Wer  nicht  liebt  Wein,  Weiber,  Gesang, 
Der  bleibt  ein  Narr  sein  Leben  lang  ;  "  — 

and  when  he  advised  a  young  scholar,  perplexed 
with  fore-ordination  and  free-will,  to  get  well 

'  D 

drunk.  "  The  nerves,"  says  Cabanis,  "  they  are 
the  man."  My  neighbor,  a  jolly  farmer,  in  the 
tavern  bar-room,  thinks  that  the  use  of  money 
is  sure  and  speedy  spending.  For  his  part,  he 
says,  he  puts  his  down  his  neck  and  gets  the 
good  of  it. 

The  inconvenience  of  this  way  of  thinking  is 


154  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

that  it  runs  into  indifferentism  and  then  into  dis 
gust.  Life  is  eating  us  up.  We  shall  be  fables 
presently.  Keep  cool  :  it  will  be  all  one  a  hun 
dred  years  hence.  Life  's  well  enough,  but  we 
shall  be  glad  to  get  out  of  it,  and  they  will  all 
be  glad  to  have  us.  Why  should  we  fret  and 
drudge?  Our  meat  will  taste  to-morrow  as  it 
did  yesterday,  and  we  may  at  last  have  had 
enough  of  it.  "  Ah,"  said  my  languid  gentleman 
at  Oxford,  "  there  's  nothing  new  or  true,  —  and 
no  matter." 

With  a  little  more  bitterness,  the  cynic  moans ; 
our  life  is  like  an  ass  led  to  market  by  a  bundle 
of  hay  being  carried  before  him  ;  he  sees  nothing 
but  the  bundle  of  hay.  "  There  is  so  much 
trouble  in  coming  into  the  world,"  said  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  "  and  so  much  more,  as  well  as 
meanness,  in  going  out  of  it,  that  'tis  hardly 
worth  while  to  be  here  at  all."  I  knew  a  philoso 
pher  of  this  kidney  who  was  accustomed  briefly 
to  sum  up  his  experience  of  human  nature  in 
saying,  "  Mankind  is  a  damned  rascal :  "  *  and 
the  natural  corollary  is  pretty  sure  to  follow,  — 
c  The  world  lives  by  humbug,  and  so  will  I.' 

The  abstractionist  and  the  materialist  thus 
mutually  exasperating  each  other,  and  the  scoffer 
expressing  the  worst  of  materialism,  there  arises 


MONTAIGNE;   OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     155 

a  third  party  to  occupy  the  middle  ground  be 
tween  these  two,  the  skeptic,  namely.  He  finds 
both  wrong  by  being  in  extremes.  He  labors  to 
plant  his  feet,  to  be  the  beam  of  the  balance. 
He  will  not  go  beyond  his  card.  He  sees  the 
one-sidedness  of  these  men  of  the  street ;  he  will 
not  be  a  Gibeonite  ;  he  stands  for  the  intellectual 
faculties,  a  cool  head  and  whatever  serves  to  keep 
it  cool ;  no  unadvised  industry,  no  unrewarded 
self-devotion,  no  loss  of  the  brains  in  toil.  Am 
I  an  ox,  or  a  dray  ? — You  are  both  in  extremes, 
he  says.  You  that  will  have  all  solid,  and  a  world 
of  pig-lead,  deceive  yourselves  grossly.  You  be 
lieve  yourselves  rooted  and  grounded  on  ada 
mant ;  and  yet,  if  we  uncover  the- last  facts  of 
our  knowledge,  you  are  spinning  like  bubbles 
in  a  river,  you  know  not  whither  or  whence,  and 
you  are  bottomed  and  capped  and  wrapped  in 
delusions.1  Neither  will  he  be  betrayed  to  a  book 
and  wrapped  in  a  gown.2  The  studious  class  are 
their  own  victims ;  they  are  thin  and  pale,  their 
feet  are  cold,  their  heads  are  hot,  the  night  is 
without  sleep,  the  day  a  fear  of  interruption,  — 
pallor,  squalor,  hunger  and  egotism.  If  you 
come  near  them  and  see  what  conceits  they  en 
tertain,  —  they  are  abstractionists,  and  spend 
their  days  and  nights  in  dreaming  some  dream  ; 


156  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

in  expecting  the  homage  of  society  to  some  pre 
cious  scheme,  built  on  a  truth,  but  destitute  of 
proportion  in  its  presentment,  of  justness  in  its 
application,  and  of  all  energy  of  will  in  the 
schemer  to  embody  and  vitalize  it.1 

But  I  see  plainly,  he  says,  that  I  cannot  see. 
I  know  that  human  strength  is  not  in  extremes, 
but  in  avoiding  extremes.  I,  at  least,  will  shun 
the  weakness  of  philosophizing  beyond  my 
depth.  What  is  the  use  of  pretending  to  pow 
ers  we  have  not  ?  What  is  the  use  of  pretending 
to  assurances  we  have  not,  respecting  the  other 
life  ?  Why  exaggerate  the  power  of  virtue  ? 
Why  be  an  angel  before  your  time  ?  These 
strings,  wound  up  too  high,  will  snap.  If  there 
is  a  wish  for  immortality,  and  no  evidence, 
why  not  say  just  that?  If  there  are  conflict 
ing  evidences,  why  not  state  them  ?  If  there  is 
not  ground  for  a  candid  thinker  to  make  up 
his  mind,  yea  or  nay,  —  why  not  suspend  the 
judgment  ?  I  weary  of  these  dogmatizers.  I 
tire  of  these  hacks  of  routine,  who  deny  the 
dogmas.  I  neither  affirm  nor  deny.  I  stand 
here  to  try  the  case.  I  am  here  to  consider, 
o-Konelv,  to  consider  how  it  is.  I  will  try  to  keep 
the  balance  true.  Of  what  use  to  take  the  chair 
and  glibly  rattle  off  theories  of  society,  reli- 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     157 

gion  and  nature,  when  I  know  that  practical 
objections  lie  in  the  way,  insurmountable  by 
me  and  by  my  mates  ?  Why  so  talkative  in 
public,  when  each  of  my  neighbors  can  pin  me 
to  my  seat  by  arguments  I  cannot  refute  ?  Why 
pretend  that  life  is  so  simple  a  game,  when  we 
know  how  subtle  and  elusive  the  Proteus  is  ? ' 
Why  think  to  shut  up  all  things  in  your  nar 
row  coop,  when  we  know  there  are  not  one  or 
two  only,  but  ten,  twenty,  a  thousand  things, 
and  unlike  ?  Why  fancy  that  you  have  all  the 
truth  in  your  keeping  ?  There  is  much  to  say 
on  all  sides. 

Who  shall  forbid  a  wise  skepticism,  seeing 
that  there  is  no  practical  question  on  which  any 
thing  more  than  an  approximate  solution  can  be 
had?  Is  not  marriage  an  open  question,  when  it 
is  alleged,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  that 
such  as  are  in  the  institution  wish  to  get  out, 
and  such  as  are  out  wish  to  get  in  ?  And  the 
reply  of  Socrates,  to  him  who  asked  whether  he 
should  choose  a  wife,  still  remains  reasonable, 
that  "  whether  he  should  choose  one  or  not,  he 
would  repent  it."  Is  not  the  State  a  question? 
All  society  is  divided  in  opinion  on  the  subject 
of  the  State.  Nobody  loves  it ;  great  numbers 
dislike  it  and  suffer  conscientious  scruples  to 


158  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

allegiance ;  and  the  only  defence  set  up,  is  the 
fear  of  doing  worse  in  disorganizing.  Is  it  other 
wise  with  the  Church  ?  Or,  to  put  any  of  the 
questions  which  touch  mankind  nearest, —  shall 
the  young  man  aim  at  a  leading  part  in  law,  in 
politics,  in  trade?  It  will  not  be  pretended  that 
a  success  in  either  of  these  kinds  is  quite  coinci 
dent  with  what  is  best  and  inmost  in  his  mind. 
Shall  he  then,  cutting  the  stays  that  hold  him 
fast  to  the  social  state,  put  out  to  sea  with  no 
guidance  but  his  genius  ?  There  is  much  to  say 
on  both  sides.  Remember  the  open  question 
between  the  present  order  of  "  competition " 
and  the  friends  of  "  attractive  and  associated 
labor."  The  generous  minds  embrace  the  propo 
sition  of  labor  shared  by  all ;  it  is  the  only  hon 
esty  ;  nothing  else  is  safe.1  It  is  from  the  poor 
man's  hut  alone  that  strength  and  virtue  come : 
and  yet,  on  the  other  side,  it  is  alleged  that 
labor  impairs  the  form  and  breaks  the  spirit  of 
man,  and  the  laborers  cry  unanimously,  '  We 
have  no  thoughts.'  Culture,  how  indispensable  ! 
I  cannot  forgive  you  the  want  of  accomplish 
ments  ;  and  yet  culture  will  instantly  impab 
that  chiefest  beauty  of  spontaneousness.  Excel 
lent  is  culture  for  a  savage ;  but  once  let  him 
read  in  the  bookj  and  he  is  no  longer  able  not 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     159 

to  think  of  Plutarch's  heroes.  In  short,  since 
true  fortitude  of  understanding  consists  "in  not 
letting  what  we  know  be  embarrassed  by  what 
we  do  not  know,"  we  ought  to  secure  those  ad 
vantages  which  we  can  command,  and  not  risk 
them  by  clutching  after  the  airy  and  unattain 
able.  Come,  no  chimeras  !  Let  us  go  abroad  ; 
let  us  mix  in  affairs ;  let  us  learn  and  get  and 
have  and  climb.  "  Men  are  a  sort  of  moving 
plants,  and,  like  trees,  receive  a  great  part  of 
their  nourishment  from  the  air.  If  they  keep 
too  much  at  home,  they  pine."  Let  us  have  a 
robust,  manly  life  ;  let  us  know  what  we  know, 
for  certain ;  what  we  have,  let  it  be  solid  and 
seasonable  and  our  own.  A  world  in  the  hand 
is  worth  two  in  the  bush.  Let  us  have  to  do 
with  real  men  and  women,  and  not  with  skip 
ping  ghosts. 

This  then  is  the  right  ground  of  the  skep 
tic, —  this  of  consideration,  of  self-containing; 
not  at  all  of  unbelief;  not  at  all  of  universal 
denying,  nor  of  universal  doubting,  —  doubting 
even  that  he  doubts  ;  least  of  all  of  scoffing  and 
profligate  jeering  at  all  that  is  stable  and  good. 
These  are  no  more  his  moods  than  are  those  of 
religion  and  philosophy.  He  is  the  considerer, 
the  prudent,  taking  in  sail,  counting  stock,  hus- 


160  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

banding  his  means,  believing  that  a  man  has  too 
many  enemies  than  that  he  can  afford  to  be  his 
own  foe ;  that  we  cannot  give  ourselves  too  many 
advantages  in  this  unequal  conflict,  with  powers 
so  vast  and  unweariable  ranged  on  one  side,  and 
this  little  conceited  vulnerable  popinjay  that  a 
man  is,  bobbing  up  and  down  into  every  dan 
ger,  on  the  other.  It  is  a  position  taken  up  for 
better  defence,  as  of  more  safety,  and  one  that 
can  be  maintained  ;  and  it  is  one  of  more  oppor 
tunity  and  range  :  as,  when  we  build  a  house, 
the  rule  is  to  set  it  not  too  high  nor  too  low, 
under  the  wind,  but  out  of  the  dirt. 

The  philosophy  we  want  is  one  of  fluxions 
and  mobility.  The  Spartan  and  Stoic  schemes 
are  too  stark  and  stiff  for  our  occasion.  A  theory 
of  Saint  John,  and  of  non-resistance,  seems,  on 
the  other  hand,  too  thin  and  aerial.  We  want 
some  coat  woven  of  elastic  steel,  stout  as  the 
first  and  limber  as  the  second.  We  want  a  ship 
in  these  billows  we  inhabit.  An  angular,  dog 
matic  house  would  be  rent  to  chips  and  splinters 
in  this  storm  of  many  elements.  No,  it  must 
be  tight,  and  fit  to  the  form  of  man,  to  live  at 
all ;  as  a  shell  must  dictate  the  architecture  of  a 
house  founded  on  the  sea.  The  soul  of  man 
must  be  the  type  of  our  scheme,  just  as  the  body 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     161 

of  man  is  the  type  after  which  a  dwelling-house 
is  built.  Adaptiveness  is  the  peculiarity  of  human 
nature.  We  are  golden  averages,  volitant  sta 
bilities,  compensated  or  periodic  errors,  houses 
founded  on  the  sea.  The  wise  skeptic  wishes 
to  have  a  near  view  of  the  best  game  and  the 
chief  players ;  what  is  best  in  the  planet ;  art 
and  nature,  places  and  events  ;  but  mainly  men. 
Every  thing  that  is  excellent  in  mankind,  —  a 
form  of  grace,  an  arm  of  iron,  lips  of  persuasion, 
a  brain  of  resources,  every  one  skilful  to  play 
and  win,  —  he  will  see  and  judge. 

The  terms  of  admission  to  this  spectacle  are, 
that  he  have  a  certain  solid  and  intelligible  way 
of  living  of  his  own  ;  some  method  of  answer 
ing  the  inevitable  needs  of  human  life ;  proof 
that  he  has  played  with  skill  and  success ;  that 
he  has  evinced  the  temper,  stoutness  and  the 
range  of  qualities  which,  among  his  contempora 
ries  and  countrymen,  entitle  him  to  fellowship 
and  trust.  For  the  secrets  of  life  are  not  shown 
except  to  sympathy  and  likeness.  Men  do  not 
confide  themselves  to  boys,  or  coxcombs,  or 
pedants,  but  to  their  peers.  Some  wise  limita 
tion,  as  the  modern  phrase  is  ;  some  condition 
between  the  extremes,  and  having,  itself,  a  posi 
tive  quality ;  some  stark  and  sufficient  man,  who 


162  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

is  not  salt  or  sugar,  but  sufficiently  related  to  the 
world  to  do  justice  to  Paris  or  London,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  a  vigorous  and  original  thinker, 
whom  cities  can  not  overawe,  but  who  uses  them, 
—  is  the  fit  person  to  occupy  this  ground  of 
speculation. 

These  qualities  meet  in  the  character  of  Mon 
taigne.  And  yet,  since  the  personal  regard  which 
I  entertain  for  Montaigne  may  be  unduly  great, 
I  will,  under  the  shield  of  this  prince  of  egotists, 
offer,  as  an  apology  for  electing  him  as  the  repre 
sentative  of  skepticism,  a  word  or  two  to  explain 
how  my  love  began  and  grew  for  this  admirable 
gossip.1 

A  single  odd  volume  of  Cotton's  translation 
of  the  Essays  remained  to  me  from  my  father's 
library,  when  a  boy.  It  lay  long  neglected,  until, 
after  many  years,  when  I  was  newly  escaped  from 
college,  I  read  the  book,  and  procured  the  re 
maining  volumes.  I  remember  the  delight  and 
wonder  in  which  I  lived  with  it.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  if  I  had  myself  written  the  book,  in  some 
former  life,  so  sincerely  it  spoke  to  my  thought 
and  experience.  It  happened,  when  in  Paris,  in 
1833,  that,  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  Lachaise,  I 
came  to  a  tomb  of  Auguste  Collignon,  who  died 
in  1830,  aged  sixty-eight  years,  and  who,  said 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     163 

the  monument,  "  lived  to  do  right,  and  had 
formed  himself  to  virtue  on  the  Essays  of  Mon 
taigne."  Some  years  later,  I  became  acquainted 
with  an  accomplished  English  poet,  John  Ster 
ling  ; I  and,  in  prosecuting  my  correspondence, 
I  found  that,  from  a  love  of  Montaigne,  he  had 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  his  chateau,  still  standing 
near  Castellan,  in  Perigord,  and,  after  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  years,  had  copied  from  the  walls 
of  his  library  the  inscriptions  which  Montaigne 
had  written  there.  That  Journal  of  Mr.  Ster 
ling's,  published  in  the  Westminster  Review, 
Mr.  Hazlitt  has  reprinted  in  the  Prolegomena  to 
his  edition  of  the  Essays.  I  heard  with  pleasure 
that  one  of  the  newly-discovered  autographs  of 
William  Shakspeare  was  in  a  copy  of  Florio's 
translation  of  Montaigne.  It  is  the  only  book 
which  we  certainly  know  to  have  been  in  the 
poet's  library.  And,  oddly  enough,  the  dupli 
cate  copy  of  Florio,  which  the  British  Museum 
purchased  with  a  view  of  protecting  the  Shak 
speare  autograph  (as  I  was  informed  in  the 
Museum),  turned  out  to  have  the  autograph  of 
Ben  Jonson  in  the  fly-leaf.  Leigh  Hunt  relates 
of  Lord  Byron,  that  Montaigne  was  the  only 
great  writer  of  past  times  whom  he  read  with 
avowed  satisfaction.  Other  coincidences,  not 


1 64  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

needful  to  be  mentioned  here,  concurred  to  make 
this  old  Gascon  still  new  and  immortal  for  me. 

In  1571,  on  the  death  of  his  father,  Mon 
taigne,  then  thirty-eight  years  old,  retired  from 
the  practice  of  law  at  Bordeaux,  and  settled  him 
self  on  his  estate.  Though  he  had  been  a  man 
of  pleasure  and  sometimes  a  courtier,  his  studi 
ous  habits  now  grew  on  him,  and  he  loved  the 
compass,  staidness  and  independence  of  the 
country  gentleman's  life.  He  took  up  his  econ 
omy  in  good  earnest,  and  made  his  farms  yield 
the  most.  Downright  and  plain-dealing,  and  ab 
horring  to  be  deceived  or  to  deceive,  he  was  es 
teemed  in  the  country  for  his  sense  and  probity. 
In  the  civil  wars  of  the  League,  which  converted 
every  house  into  a  fort,  Montaigne  kept  his  gates 
open  and  his  house  without  defence.  All  parties 
freely  came  and  went,  his  courage  and  honor  be 
ing  universally  esteemed.  The  neighboring  lords 
and  gentry  brought  jewels  and  papers  to  him  for 
safe-keeping.  Gibbon  reckons,  in  these  bigoted 
times,  but  two  men  of  liberality  in  France, — 
Henry  IV.  and  Montaigne. 

Montaigne  is  the  frankest  and  honestest  of  all 
writers.  His  French  freedom  runs  into  gross- 
ness  ;  but  he  has  anticipated  all  censure  by  the 
bounty  of  his  own  confessions.  In  his  times, 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     165 

books  were  written  to  one  sex  only,  and  almost 
all  were  written  in  Latin  ;  so  that  in  a  humorist 
a  certain  nakedness  of  statement  was  permitted, 
which  our  manners,  of  a  literature  addressed 
equally  to  both  sexes,  do  not  allow.  But  though 
a  biblical  plainness  coupled  with  a  most  unca- 
nonical  levity  may  shut  his  pages  to  many  sensi 
tive  readers,  yet  the  offence  is  superficial.  He 
parades  it :  he  makes  the  most  of  it :  nobody  can 
think  or  say  worse  of  him  than  he  does.1  He 
pretends  to  most  of  the  vices ;  and,  if  there  be 
any  virtue  in  him,  he  says,  it  got  in  by  stealth. 
There  is  no  man,  in  his  opinion,  who  has  not 
deserved  hanging  five  or  six  times ;  and  he  pre 
tends  no  exception  in  his  own  behalf.  "  Five  or 
six  as  ridiculous  stories,"  too,  he  says,  "  can  be 
told  of  me,  as  of  any  man  living."  But,  with  all 
this  really  superfluous  frankness,  the  opinion  of 
an  invincible  probity  grows  into  every  reader's 
mind.  "  When  I  the  most  strictly  and  religiously 
confess  myself,  I  find  that  the  best  virtue  I  have 
has  in  it  some  tincture  of  vice ;  and  I,  who  am 
as  sincere  and  perfect  a  lover  of  virtue  of  that 
stamp  as  any  other  whatever,  am  afraid  that 
Plato,  in  his  purest  virtue,  if  he  had  listened  and 
laid  his  ear  close  to  himself,  would  have  heard 
some  jarring  sound  of  human  mixture  ;  but 


1 66  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

faint  and  remote  and  only  to  be  perceived  by 
himself." 

Here  is  an  impatience  and  fastidiousness  at 
color  or  pretence  of  any  kind.  He  has  been  in 
courts  so  long  as  to  have  conceived  a  furious  dis 
gust  at  appearances  ;  he  will  indulge  himself  with 
a  little  cursing  and  swearing ;  he  will  talk  with 
sailors  and  gipsies,  use  flash  and  street  ballads ; 
he  has  stayed  in-doors  till  he  is  deadly  sick ;  he 
will  to  the  open  air,  though  it  rain  bullets.  He 
has  seen  too  much  of  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe, 
until  he  wishes  for  cannibals ;  and  is  so  nervous, 
by  factitious  life,  that  he  thinks  the  more  bar 
barous  man  is,  the  better  he  is.  He  likes  his  sad 
dle.  You  may  read  theology,  and  grammar,  and 
metaphysics  elsewhere.  Whatever  you  get  here 
shall  smack  of  the  earth  and  of  real  life,  sweet, 
or  smart,  or  stinging.  He  makes  no  hesitation 
to  entertain  you  with  the  records  of  his  disease, 
and  his  journey  to  Italy  is  quite  full  of  that  mat 
ter.1  He  took  and  kept  this  position  of  equilib 
rium.  Over  his  name  he  drew  an  emblematic 
pair  of  scales,  and  wrote  9$ue  s^ais  je?  under  it. 
As  I  look  at  his  effigy  opposite  the  title-page, 
I  seem  to  hear  him  say, ( You  may  play  old  Poz, 
if  you  will ; 2  you  may  rail  and  exaggerate,  —  I 
stand  here  for  truth,  and  will  not,  for  all  the  states 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     167 

and  churches  and  revenues  and  personal  reputa 
tions  of  Europe,  overstate  the  dry  fact,  as  I  see 
it ;  I  will  rather  mumble  and  prose  about  what 
I  certainly  know,  —  my  house  and  barns;  my 
father,  my  wife  and  my  tenants ;  my  old  lean 
bald  pate ;  my  knives  and  forks ;  what  meats  I 
eat  and  what  drinks  I  prefer,  and  a  hundred 
straws  just  as  ridiculous,  —  than  I  will  write, 
with  a  fine  crow-quill,  a  fine  romance.  I  like 
gray  days,  and  autumn  and  winter  weather.  I 
am  gray  and  autumnal  myself,  and  think  an  un 
dress  and  old  shoes  that  do  not  pinch  my  feet, 
and  old  friends  who  do  not  constrain  me,  and 
plain  topics  where  I  do  not  need  to  strain  myself 
and  pump  my  brains,  the  most  suitable.  Our 
condition  as  men  is  risky  and  ticklish  enough. 
One  cannot  be  sure  of  himself  and  his  fortune 
an  hour,  but  he  may  be  whisked  off  into  some 
pitiable  or  ridiculous  plight.  Why  should  I 
vapor  and  play  the  philosopher,  instead  of  bal 
lasting,  the  best  I  can,  this  dancing  balloon  ?  So, 
at  least,  I  live  within  compass,  keep  myself  ready 
for  action,  and  can  shoot  the  gulf  at  last  with 
decency.  If  there  be  anything  farcical  in  such  a 
life,  the  blame  is  not  mine  :  let  it  lie  at  fate's 
and  nature's  door.' 

The  Essays,   therefore,  are  an   entertaining 


1 68  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

soliloquy  on  every  random  topic  that  comes  into 
his  head  ;  treating  every  thing  without  ceremony, 
yet  with  masculine  sense.  There  have  been  men 
with  deeper  insight ;  but,  one  would  say,  never 
a  man  with  such  abundance  of  thoughts  :  he  is 
never  dull,  never  insincere,  and  has  the  genius 
to  make  the  reader  care  for  all  that  he  cares  for. 
The  sincerity  and  marrow  of  the  man  reaches 
to  his  sentences.  I  know  not  anywhere  the  book 
that  seems  less  written.  It  is  the  language  of 
conversation  transferred  to  a  book.  Cut  these 
words,  and  they  would  bleed ;  they  are  vascular 
and  alive.  One  has  the  same  pleasure  in  it  that 
he  feels  in  listening  to  the  necessary  speech  of 
men  about  their  work,  when  any  unusual  circum 
stance  gives  momentary  importance  to  the  dia 
logue.  For  blacksmiths  and  teamsters  do  not 
trip  in  their  speech  ;  it  is  a  shower  of  bullets.  It 
is  Cambridge  men  who  correct  themselves  and 
begin  again  at  every  half  sentence,  and,  more 
over,  will  pun,  and  refine  too  much,  and  swerve 
from  the  matter  to  the  expression.1  Montaigne 
talks  with  shrewdness,  knows  the  world  and 
books  and  himself,  and  uses  the  positive  degree  ; 
never  shrieks,  or  protests,  or  prays  :  no  weakness, 
no  convulsion,  no  superlative  :  does  not  wish  to 
jump  out  of  his  skin,  or  play  any  antics,  or  an- 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     169 

nihilate  space  or  time,  but  is  stout  and  solid ; 
tastes  every  moment  of  the  day ;  likes  pain  be 
cause  it  makes  him  feel  himself  and  realize  things ; 
as  we  pinch  ourselves  to  know  that  we  are  awake. 
He  keeps  the  plain  ;  he  rarely  mounts  or  sinks  ; 
likes  to  feel  solid  ground  and  the  stones  under 
neath.  His  writing  has  no  enthusiasms,  no  as 
piration  ;  contented,  self-respecting  and  keeping 
the  middle  of  the  road.  There  is  but  one  excep 
tion,  —  in  his  love  for  Socrates.  In  speaking  of 
him,  for  once  his  cheek  flushes  and  his  style  rises 
to  passion. 

Montaigne  died  of  a  quinsy,  at  the  age  of 
sixty,  in  1592.  When  he  came  to  die  he  caused 
the  mass  to  be  celebrated  in  his  chamber.  At 
the  age  of  thirty-three,  he  had  been  married. 
"  But,"  he  says,  "  might  I  have  had  my  own 
will,  I  would  not  have  married  Wisdom  herself, 
if  she  would  have  had  me  :  but  't  is  to  much 
purpose  to  evade  it,  the  common  custom  and 
use  of  life  will  have  it  so.  Most  of  my  actions 
are  guided  by  example,  not  choice."  In  the 
hour  of  death,  he  gave  the  same  weight  to  cus 
tom.  Que  s$ais je?  What  do  I  know? 

This  book  of  Montaigne  the  world  has  en 
dorsed  by  translating  it  into  all  tongues  and 
printing  seventy-five  editions  of  it  in  Europe ; 


1 70  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  that,  too,  a  circulation  somewhat  chosen, 
namely  among  courtiers,  soldiers,  princes,  men 
of  the  world  and  men  of  wit  and  generosity. 

Shall  we  say  that  Montaigne  has  spoken 
wisely,  and  given  the  right  and  permanent  ex 
pression  of  the  human  mind,  on  the  conduct  of 
life? 

We  are  natural  believers.  Truth,  or  the  con 
nection  between  cause  and  effect,  alone  inter 
ests  us.  We  are  persuaded  that  a  thread  runs 
through  all  things  :  all  worlds  are  strung  on  it, 
as  beads ;  and  men,  and  events,  and  life,  come  to 
us  only  because  of  that  thread :  they  pass  and 
repass  only  that  we  may  know  the  direction  and 
continuity  of  that  line.  A  book  or  statement 
which  goes  to  show  that  there  is  no  line,  but 
random  and  chaos,  a  calamity  out  of  nothing,  a 
prosperity  and  no  account  of  it,  a  hero  born 
from  a  fool,  a  fool  from  a  hero,  —  dispirits  us. 
Seen  or  unseen,  we  believe  the  tie  exists.  Tal 
ent  makes  counterfeit  ties  ;  genius  finds  the  real 
ones.  We  hearken  to  the  man  of  science,  be 
cause  we  anticipate  the  sequence  in  natural  phe 
nomena  which  he  uncovers.  We  love  whatever 
affirms,  connects,  preserves ;  and  dislike  what 
scatters  or  pulls  down.  One  man  appears  whose 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     171 

nature  is  to  all  men's  eyes  conserving  and  con 
structive  ;  his  presence  supposes  a  well-ordered 
society,  agriculture,  trade,  large  institutions  and 
empire.  If  these  did  not  exist,  they  would  begin 
to  exist  through  his  endeavors.  Therefore  he 
cheers  and  comforts  men,  who  feel  all  this  in 
him  very  readily.  The  nonconformist  and  the 
rebel  say  all  manner  of  unanswerable  things 
against  the  existing  republic,  but  discover  to- 
our  sense  no  plan  of  house  or  state  of  their  own. 
Therefore,  though  the  town  and  state  and  way 
of  living,  which  our  counsellor  contemplated, 
might  be  a  very  modest  or  musty  prosperity, 
yet  men  rightly  go  for  him,  and  reject  the 
reformer  so  long  as  he  comes  only  with  axe  and 
crowbar. 

But  though  we  are  natural  conservers  and 
causationists,  and  reject  a  sour,  dumpish  unbe 
lief,  the  skeptical  class,  which  Montaigne  repre 
sents,  have  reason,  and  every  man,  at  some 
time,  belongs  to  it.  Every  superior  mind  will 
pass  through  this  domain  of  equilibration,  —  I 
should  rather  say,  will  know  how  to  avail  him 
self  of  the  checks  and  balances  in  nature,  as  a 
natural  weapon  against  the  exaggeration  and 
formalism  of  bigots  and  blockheads. 

Skepticism  is  the  attitude  assumed  by  the 


172  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

student  in  relation  to  the  particulars  which 
society  adores,  but  which  he  sees  to  be  reverend 
only  in  their  tendency  and  spirit.  The  ground 
occupied  by  the  skeptic  is  the  vestibule  of  the 
temple.  Society  does  not  like  to  have  any 
breath  of  question  blown  on  the  existing  order. 
But  the  interrogation  of  custom  at  all  points  is 
an  inevitable  stage  in  the  growth  of  every  supe 
rior  mind,  and  is  the  evidence  of  its  perception 
of  the  flowing  power  which  remains  itself  in  all 
changes.1 

The  superior  mind  will  find  itself  equally  at 
odds  with  the  evils  of  society  and  with  the  pro 
jects  that  are  offered  to  relieve  them.  The  wise 
skeptic  is  a  bad  citizen  ;  no  conservative,  he 
sees  the  selfishness  of  property  and  the  drowsi 
ness  of  institutions.  But  neither  is  he  fit  to 
work  with  any  democratic  party  that  ever  was 
constituted ;  for  parties  wish  every  one  com 
mitted,  and  he  penetrates  the  popular  patriot 
ism.  His  politics  are  those  of  the  "  Soul's 
Errand"  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh;  or  of  Krishna, 
in  the  Bhagavat,  "  There  is  none  who  is  worthy 
of  my  love  or  hatred  ;  "  whilst  he  sentences  law, 
physic,  divinity,  commerce  and  custom.  He  is 
a  reformer ;  yet  he  is  no  better  member  of  the 
philanthropic  association.  It  turns  out  that  he 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     173 

is  not  the  champion  of  the  operative,  the  pau 
per,  the  prisoner,  the  slave.  It  stands  in  his 
mind  that  our  life  in  this  world  is  not  of  quite 
so  easy  interpretation  as  churches  and  school- 
books  say.  He  does  not  wish  to  take  ground 
against  these  benevolences,  to  play  the  part  of 
devil's  attorney,  and  blazon  every  doubt  and 
sneer  that  darkens  the  sun  for  him.  But  he 
says,  There  are  doubts. 

I  mean  to  use  the  occasion,  and  celebrate  the 
calendar-day  of  our  Saint  Michel  de  Montaigne, 
by  counting  and  describing  these  doubts  or  ne 
gations.  I  wish  to  ferret  them  out  of  their  holes 
and  sun  them  a  little.  We  must  do  with  them 
as  the  police  do  with  old  rogues,  who  are  shown 
up  to  the  public  at  the  marshal's  office.  They 
will  never  be  so  formidable  when  once  they  have 
been  identified  and  registered.  But  I  mean 
honestly  by  them,  —  that  justice  shall  be  done 
to  their  terrors.  I  shall  not  take  Sunday  objec 
tions,  made  up  on  purpose  to  be  put  down.  I 
shall  take  the  worst  I  can  find,  whether  I  can 
dispose  of  them  or  they  of  me. 

I  do  not  press  the  skepticism  of  the  material 
ist.  I  know  the  quadruped  opinion  will  not  pre 
vail.  'T  is  of  no  importance  what  bats  and  oxen 
think.  The  first  dangerous  symptom  I  report 


174  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

is,  the  levity  of  intellect ;  as  if  it  were  fatal  to 
earnestness  to  know  much.  Knowledge  is  the 
knowing  that  we  can  not  know.  The  dull  pray  ; 
the  geniuses  are  light  mockers.  How  respect 
able  is  earnestness  on  every  platform  !  but  in 
tellect  kills  it.  Nay,  San  Carlo,  my  subtle  and 
admirable  friend,  one  of  the  most  penetrating  of 
men,  finds  that  all  direct  ascension,  even  of  lofty 
piety,  leads  to  this  ghastly  insight  and  sends 
back  the  votary  orphaned.1  My  astonishing 
San  Carlo  thought  the  lawgivers  and  saints  in 
fected.  They  found  the  ark  empty  ;  saw,  and 
would  not  tell  ;  and  tried  to  choke  off  their  ap 
proaching  followers,  by  saying,  c  Action,  action, 
my  dear  fellows,  is  for  you  ! '  Bad  as  was  to  me 
this  detection  by  San  Carlo,  this  frost  in  July, 
this  blow  from  a  bride,  there  was  still  a  worse, 
namely  the  cloy  or  satiety  of  the  saints.  In  the 
mount  of  vision,  ere  they  have  yet  risen  from 
their  knees,  they  say,  f  We  discover  that  this  our 
homage  and  beatitude  is  partial  and  deformed : 
we  must  fly  for  relief  to  the  suspected  and  reviled 
Intellect,  to  the  Understanding,  the  Mephis- 
topheles,  to  the  gymnastics  of  talent.' 2 

This  is  hobgoblin  the  first ;  and  though  it  has 
been  the  subject  of  much  elegy  in  our  nineteenth 
century,  from  Byron,  Goethe  and  other  poets 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     175 

of  less  fame,  not  to  mention  many  distinguished 
private  observers,  —  I  confess  it  is  not  very  af 
fecting  to  my  imagination  ;  for  it  seems  to  con 
cern  the  shattering  of  baby-houses  and  crockery- 
shops.  What  flutters  the  Church  of  Rome,  or 
of  England,  or  of  Geneva,  or  of  Boston,  may 
yet  be  very  far  from  touching  any  principle  of 
faith.  I  think  that  the  intellect  and  moral  sen 
timent  are  unanimous ;  and  that  though  philo 
sophy  extirpates  bugbears,  yet  it  supplies  the 
natural  checks  of  vice,  and  polarity  to  the  soul. 
I  think  that  the  wiser  a  man  is,  the  more  stupen 
dous  he  finds  the  natural  and  moral  economy,  and 
lifts  himself  to  a  more  absolute  reliance.1 

There  is  the  power  of  moods,  each  setting  at 
nought  all  but  its  own  tissue  of  facts  and  beliefs. 
There  is  the  power  of  complexions,  obviously 
modifying  the  dispositions  and  sentiments.  The 
beliefs  and  unbeliefs  appear  to  be  structural ; 
and  as  soon  as  each  man  attains  the  poise  and 
vivacity  which  allow  the  whole  machinery  to  play, 
he  will  not  need  extreme  examples,  but  will 
rapidly  alternate  all  opinions  in  his  own  life. 
Our  life  is  March  weather,  savage  and  serene  in 
one  hour.  We  go  forth  austere,  dedicated,  be 
lieving  in  the  iron  links  of  Destiny,  and  will  not 
turn  on  our  heel  to  save  our  life :  but  a  book. 


176  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

or  a  bust,  or  only  the  sound  of  a  name,  shoots 
a  spark  through  the  nerves,  and  we  suddenly 
believe  in  will :  my  finger-ring  shall  be  the  seal 
of  Solomon  ;  fate  is  for  imbeciles  ;  all  is  possible 
to  the  resolved  mind.  Presently  a  new  experi 
ence  gives  a  new  turn  to  our  thoughts  :  common 
sense  resumes  its  tyranny  ;  we  say,  '  Well,  the 
army,  after  all,  is  the  gate  to  fame,  manners  and 
poetry  :  and,  look  you,  —  on  the  whole,  selfish 
ness  plants  best,  prunes  best,  makes  the  best 
commerce  and  the  best  citizen.'  Are  the  opin 
ions  of  a  man  on  right  and  wrong,  on  fate  and 
causation,  at  the  mercy  of  a  broken  sleep  or  an 
indigestion  ?  Is  his  belief  in  God  and  Duty  no 
deeper  than  a  stomach  evidence  ?  And  what 
guaranty  for  the  permanence  of  his  opinions  ? 
I  like  not  the  French  celerity,  —  a  new  Church 
and  State  once  a  week.  This  is  the  second  ne 
gation  ;  and  I  shall  let  it  pass  for  what  it  will. 
As  far  as  it  asserts  rotation  of  states  of  mind,  I 
suppose  it  suggests  its  own  remedy,  namely  in 
the  record  of  larger  periods.  What  is  the  mean 
of  many  states ;  of  all  the  states  ?  Does  the 
general  voice  of  ages  affirm  any  principle,  or  is 
no  community  of  sentiment  discoverable  in  dis 
tant  times  and  places?  And  when  it  shows  the 
power  of  self-interest,  I  accept  that  as  part  of 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     177 

the  divine  law  and  must  reconcile  it  with  aspira 
tion  the  best  I  can. 

The  word  Fate,  or  Destiny,  expresses  the 
sense  of  mankind,  in  all  ages,  that  the  laws  of 
the  world  do  not  always  befriend,  but  often  hurt 
and  crush  us.  Fate,  in  the  shape  of  Kinde  or 
nature,  grows  over  us  like  grass.1  We  paint 
Time  with  a  scythe;  Love  and  Fortune,  blind; 
and  Destiny,  deaf.  We  have  too  little  power  of 
resistance  against  this  ferocity  which  champs  us 
up.  What  front  can  we  make  against  these  un 
avoidable,  victorious,  maleficent  forces  ?  What 
can  I  do  against  the  influence  of  Race,  in  my 
history  ?  What  can  I  do  against  hereditary  and 
constitutional  habits ;  against  scrofula,  lymph, 
impotence  ?  against  climate,  against  barbarism, 
in  my  country  ?  I  can  reason  down  or  deny 
every  thing,  except  this  perpetual  Belly  :  feed 
he  must  and  will,  and  I  cannot  make  him  re 
spectable.2 

But  the  main  resistance  which  the  affirmative 
impulse  finds,  and  one  including  all  others,  is  in 
the  doctrine  of  the  Illusionists.  There  is  a  pain 
ful  rumor  in  circulation  that  we  have  been  prac 
tised  upon  in  all  the  principal  performances  of 
life,  and  free  agency  is  the  emptiest  name.  We 

IV 


1 78  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

have  been  sopped  and  drugged  with  the  air, 
with  food,  with  woman,  with  children,  with  sci 
ences,  with  events,  which  leave  us  exactly  where 
they  found  us.  The  mathematics,  't  is  com 
plained,  leave  the  mind  where  they  find  it:  so 
do  all  sciences  ;  and  so  do  all  events  and  actions. 
I  find  a  man  who  has  passed  through  all  the 
sciences,  the  churl  he  was ;  and,  through  all 
the  offices,  learned,  civil  and  social,  can  detect 
the  child.  We  are  not  the  less  necessitated  to 
dedicate  life  to  them.  In  fact  we  may  come  to 
accept  it  as  the  fixed  rule  and  theory  of  our 
state  of  education,  that  God  is  a  substance,  and 
his  method  is  illusion.  The  Eastern  sages  owned 
the  goddess  Yoganidra,  the  great  illusory  energy 
of  Vishnu,  by  whom,  as  utter  ignorance,  the 
whole  world  is  beguiled. 

Or  shall  I  state  it  thus  ?  —  The  astonishment 
of  life  is  the  absence  of  any  appearance  of  recon 
ciliation  between  the  theory  and  practice  of  life. 
Reason,  the  prized  reality,  the  Law,  is  appre 
hended,  now  and  then,  for  a  serene  and  profound 
moment  amidst  the  hubbub  of  cares  and  works 
which  have  no  direct  bearing  on  it;  —  is  then 
lost  for  months  or  years,  and  again  found  for  an 
interval,  to  be  lost  again.  If  we  compute  it  in 
time,  we  may,  in  fifty  years,  have  half  a  dozen 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     179 

reasonable  hours.  But  what  are  these  cares  and 
works  the  better  ?  A  method  in  the  world  we  do 
not  see,  but  this  parallelism  of  great  and  little, 
which  never  react  on  each  other,  nor  discover 
the  smallest  tendency  to  converge.  Experiences, 
fortunes,  governings,  readings,  writings,  are  , 
nothing  to  the  purpose ;  as  when  a  man  comes 
into  the  room  it  does  not  appear  whether  he 
has  been  fed  on  yams  or  buffalo,  —  he  has  con 
trived  to  get  so  much  bone  and  fibre  as  he 
wants,  out  of  rice  or  out  of  snow.  So  vast  is  the 
disproportion  between  the  sky  of  law  and  the 
pismire  of  performance  under  it,  that  whether 
he  is  a  man  of  worth  or  a  sot  is  not  so  great  a 
matter  as  we  say.  Shall  I  add,  as  one  juggle  of 
this  enchantment,  the  stunning  non-intercourse 
law  which  makes  co-operation  impossible  ?  The 
young  spirit  pants  to  enter  society.  But  all  the 
ways  of  culture  and  greatness  lead  to  solitary 
imprisonment.  He  has  been  often  baulked.  He 
did  not  expect  a  sympathy  with  his  thought 
from  the  village,  but  he  went  with  it  to  the 
chosen  and  intelligent,  and  found  no  entertain 
ment  for  it,  but  mere  misapprehension,  distaste 
and  scoffing.  Men  are  strangely  mistimed  and 
misapplied ;  and  the  excellence  of  each  is  an  in 
flamed  individualism  which  separates  him  more. 


i8o  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

There  are  these,  and  more  than  these  dis 
eases  of  thought,  which  our  ordinary  teachers 
do  not  attempt  to  remove.  Now  shall  we,  be 
cause  a  good  nature  inclines  us  to  virtue's  side, 
say,  There  are  no  doubts,  —  and  lie  for  the 
right  ?  Is  life  to  be  led  in  a  brave  or  in  a  cow 
ardly  manner  ?  and  is  not  the  satisfaction  of  the 
doubts  essential  to  all  manliness  ?  Is  the  name 
of  virtue  to  be  a  barrier  to  that  which  is  virtue  ? 
Can  you  not  believe  that  a  man  of  earnest  and 
burly  habit  may  find  small  good  in  tea,  essays 
and  catechism,  and  want  a  rougher  instruction, 
want  men,  labor,  trade,  farming,  war,  hunger, 
plenty,  love,  hatred,  doubt  and  terror  to  make 
things  plain  to  him  ;  and  has  he  not  a  right  to 
insist  on  being  convinced  in  his  own  way  ? 
When  he  is  convinced,  he  will  be  worth  the 
pains.1 

Belief  consists  in  accepting  the  affirmations 
of  the  soul ;  unbelief,  in  denying  them.  Some 
minds  are  incapable  of  skepticism.  The  doubts 
they  profess  to  entertain  are  rather  a  civility  or 
accommodation  to  the  common  discourse  of 
their  company.  They  may  well  give  themselves 
leave  to  speculate,  for  they  are  secure  of  a  re 
turn.  Once  admitted  to  the  heaven  of  thought, 
they  see  no  relapse  into  night,  but  infinite  invi- 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     181 

tation  on  the  other  side.  Heaven  is  within 
heaven,  and  sky  over  sky,  and  they  are  encom 
passed  with  divinities.  Others  there  are  to  whom 
the  heaven  is  brass,  and  it  shuts  down  to  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  It  is  a  question  of  tempera 
ment,  or  of  more  or  less  immersion  in  nature. 
The  last  class  must  needs  have  a  reflex  or  para 
site  faith  ;  not  a  sight  of  realities,  but  an  instinc 
tive  reliance  on  the  seers  and  believers  of  reali 
ties.  The  manners  and  thoughts  of  believers 
astonish  them  and  convince  them  that  these 
have  seen  something  which  is  hid  from  them 
selves.  But  their  sensual  habit  would  fix  the 
believer  to  his  last  position,  whilst  he  as  inevi 
tably  advances  ;  and  presently  the  unbeliever, 
for  love  of  belief,  burns  the  believer. 

Great  believers  are  always  reckoned  infidels, 
impracticable,  fantastic,  atheistic,  and  really  men 
of  no  account.  The  spiritualist  finds  himself 
driven  to  express  his  faith  by  a  series  of  skepti 
cisms.  Charitable  souls  come  with  their  projects 
and  ask  his  co-operation.  How  can  he  hesitate  ? 
It  is  the  rule  of  mere  comity  and  courtesy  to 
agree  where  you  can,  and  to  turn  your  sentence 
with  something  auspicious,  and  not  freezing  and 
sinister.  But  he  is  forced  to  say, '  O,  these  things 
will  be  as  they  must  be :  what  can  you  do  ? 


1 82  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

These  particular  griefs  and  crimes  are  the  foliage 
and  fruit  of  such  trees  as  we  see  growing.  It  is 
vain  to  complain,  of  the  leaf  or  the  berry  ;  cut  it 
off,  it  will  bear  another  just  as  bad.  You  must 
begin  your  cure  lower  down.'  The  generosities 
of  the  day  prove  an  intractable  element  for  him. 
The  people's  questions  are  not  his  ;  their  meth 
ods  are  not  Jiis ;  and  against  all  the  dictates  of 
good  nature  he  is  driven  to  say  he  has  no  plea 
sure  in  them.1 

Even  the  doctrines  dear  to  the  hope  of  man, 
of  the  divine  Providence  and  of  the  immortal 
ity  of  the  soul,  his  neighbors  can  not  put  the 
statement  so  that  he  shall  affirm  it.  But  he  de 
nies  out  of  more  faith,  and  not  less.  He  denies 
out  of  honesty.  He  had  rather  stand  charged 
with  the  imbecility  of  skepticism,  than  with  un 
truth.  I  believe,  he  says,  in  the  moral  design  of 
the  universe ;  it  exists  hospitably  for  the  weal 
of  souls ;  but  your  dogmas  seem  to  me  carica 
tures:  why  should  I  make  believe  them  ?  Will 
any  say,  This  is  cold  and  infidel  ?  The  wise  and 
magnanimous  will  not  say  so.  They  will  exult 
in  his  far-sighted  good-will  that  can  abandon  to 
the  adversary  all  the  ground  of  tradition  and 
common  belief,  without  losing  a  jot  of  strength. 
It  sees  to  the  end  of  all  transgression.  George 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     183 

Fox  saw  that  there  was  "  an  ocean  of  darkness 
and  death ;  but  withal  an  infinite  ocean  of  light 
and  love  which  flowed  over  that  of  darkness."1 

The  final  solution  in  which  skepticism  is  lost, 
is  in  the  moral  sentiment,  which  never  forfeits  its 
supremacy.  All  moods  may  be  safely  tried,  and 
their  weight  allowed  to  all  objections  :  the  moral 
sentiment  as  easily  outweighs  them  all,  as  any 
one.  This  is  the  drop  which  balances  the  sea. 
I  play  with  the  miscellany  of  facts,  and  take  those 
superficial  views  which  we  call  skepticism  ;  but 
I  know  that  they  will  presently  appear  to  me  in 
that  order  which  makes  skepticism  impossible. 
A  man  of  thought  must  feel  the  thought  that  is 
parent  of  the  universe  ;  that  the  masses  of  nature 
do  undulate  and  flow. 

This  faith  avails  to  the  whole  emergency  of 
life  and  objects.  The  world  is  saturated  with 
deity  and  with  law.  He  is  content  with  just  and 
unjust,  with  sots  and  fools,  with  the  triumph  of 
folly  and  fraud.2  He  can  behold  with  serenity 
the  yawning  gulf  between  the  ambition  of  man 
and  his  power  of  performance,  between  the  de 
mand  and  supply  of  power,  which  makes  the 
tragedy  of  all  souls. 

Charles  Fourier  announced  that  "  the  attrac~ 
tions  of  man  are  proportioned  to  his  destinies  ;  " 


184  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

in  other  words,  that  every  desire  predicts  its  own 
satisfaction.  Yet  all  experience  exhibits  the  re 
verse  of  this  ;  the  incompetency  of  power  is  the 
universal  grief  of  young  and  ardent  minds.  They 
accuse  the  divine  Providence  of  a  certain  parsi 
mony.  It  has  shown  the  heaven  and  earth  to 
every  child  and  filled  him  with  a  desire  for  the 
whole  ;  a  desire  raging,  infinite  ;  a  hunger,  as  of 
space  to  be  filled  with  planets  ;  a  cry  of  famine, 
as  of  devils  for  souls.  Then  for  the  satisfaction, 
—  to  each  man  is  administered  a  single  drop,  a 
bead  of  dew  of  vital  power,  per  day,  —  a  cup  as 
large  as  space,  and  one  drop  of  the  water  of  life 
in  it.1  Each  man  woke  in  the  morning  with  an 
appetite  that  could  eat  the  solar  system  like  a 
cake ;  a  spirit  for  action  and  passion  without 
bounds ;  he  could  lay  his  hand  on  the  morning 
star;  he  could  try  conclusions  with  gravitation 
or  chemistry ;  but,  on  the  first  motion  to  prove 
his  strength,  —  hands,  feet,  senses,  gave  way  and 
would  not  serve  him.  He  was  an  emperor  de 
serted  by  his  states,  and  left  to  whistle  by  him 
self,  or  thrust  into  a  mob  of  emperors,  all  whis 
tling  :  and  still  the  sirens  sang,  "  The  attractions 
are  proportioned  to  the  destinies."  In  every 
house,  in  the  heart  of  each  maiden  and  of  each 
boy,  in  the  soul  of  the  soaring  saint,  this  chasm 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,  THE  SKEPTIC     185 

is  found,  —  between  the  largest  promise  of  ideal 
power,  and  the  shabby  experience. 

The  expansive  nature  of  truth  comes  to  our 
succor,  elastic,  not  to  be  surrounded.  Man  helps 
himself  by  larger  generalizations.  The  lesson  of 
life  is  practically  to  generalize;  to  believe  what 
the  years  and  the  centuries  say,  against  the 
hours;  to  resist  the  usurpation  of  particulars;  to 
penetrate  to  their  catholic  sense.  Things  seem 
to  say  one  thing,  and  say  the  reverse.  The  appear 
ance  is  immoral ;  the  result  is  moral.  Things 
seem  to  tend  downward,  to  justify  despondency, 
to  promote  rogues,  to  defeat  the  just;  and  by 
knaves  as  by  martyrs  the  just  cause  is  carried 
forward.  Although  knaves  win  in  every  politi 
cal  struggle,  although  society  seems  to  be  de 
livered  over  from  the  hands  of  one  set  of  crim 
inals  into  the  hands  of  another  set  of  criminals, 
as  fast  as  the  government  is  changed,  and  the 
march  of  civilization  is  a  train  of  felonies, — 
yet,  general  ends  are  somehow  answered.  We 
see,  now,  events  forced  on  which  seem  to  retard 
or  retrograde  the  civility  of  ages.  But  the  world- 
spirit  is  a  good  swimmer,  and  storms  and  waves 
cannot  drown  him.  He  snaps  his  finger  at  laws  : 
and  so,  throughout  history,  heaven  seems  to 
affect  low  and  poor  means.  Through  the  years 


1 86  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  the  centuries,  through  evil  agents,  through 
toys  and  atoms,  a  great  and  beneficent  tendency 
irresistibly  streams.1 

Let  a  man  learn  to  look  for  the  permanent  in 
the  mutable  and  fleeting ;  let  him  learn  to  bear 
the  disappearance  of  things  he  was  wont  to  rever 
ence  without  losing  his  reverence  ;  let  him  learn 
that  he  is  here,  not  to  work  but  to  be  worked 
upon  ;  and  that,  though  abyss  open  under  abyss, 
and  opinion  displace  opinion,  all  are  at  last  con 
tained  in  the  Eternal  Cause  :  — 

"  If  my  bark  sink,  't  is  to  another  sea."* 


V 

SHAKSPEARE;   OR,   THE   POET 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE 
POET 

GREAT  men  are  more  distinguished  by 
range  and  extent  than  by  originality.  If 
we  require  the  originality  which  consists  in  weav 
ing,  like  a  spider,  their  web  from  their  owu 
bowels  ;  in  finding  clay  and  making  bricks  and 
building  the  house ;  no  great  men  are  original. 
Nor  does  valuable  originality  consist  in  unlike- 
ness  to  other  men.  The  hero  is  in  the  press  of 
knights  and  the  thick  of  events ;  and  seeing 
what  men  want  and  sharing  their  desire,  he  adds 
the  needful  length  of  sight  and  of  arm,  to  come 
at  the  desired  point.  The  greatest  genius  is  the 
most  indebted  man.  A  poet  is  no  rattle-brain, 
saying  what  comes  uppermost,  and,  because  he 
says  every  thing,  saying  at  last  something  good  ; 
but  a  heart  in  unison  with  his  time  and  country. 
There  is  nothing  whimsical  and  fantastic  in  his 
production,  but  sweet  and  sad  earnest,  freighted 
with  the  weightiest  convictions  and  pointed  with 
the  most  determined  aim  which  any  man  or  class 
knows  of  in  his  times.1 

The  Genius  of  our  life  is  jealous  of  individ 
uals,  and  will  not  have  any  individual  great, 


190  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

except  through  the  general.  There  is  no  choice 
to  genius.  A  great  man  does  not  wake  up  on 
some  fine  morning  and  say,  '  I  am  full  of  life,  I 
will  go  to  sea  and  find  an  Antarctic  continent : 
to-day  I  will  square  the  circle :  I  will  ransack 
botany  and  find  a  new  food  for  man  :  I  have  a 
new  architecture  in  my  mind  :  I  foresee  a  new 
mechanic  power : '  no,  but  he  finds  himself  in 
the  river  of  the  thoughts  and  events,  forced  on 
ward  by  the  ideas  and  necessities  of  his  contem 
poraries.1  He  stands  where  all  the  eyes  of  men 
look  one  way,  and  their  hands  all  point  in  the 
direction  in  which  he  should  go.  The  Church 
has  reared  him  amidst  rites  and  pomps,  and  he 
carries  out  the  advice  which  her  music  gave  him, 
and  builds  a  cathedral  needed  by  her  chants  and 
processions.  He  finds  a  war  raging  :  it  educates 
him,  by  trumpet,  in  barracks,  and  he  betters  the 
instruction.  He  finds  two  counties  groping  to 
bring  coal,  or  flour,  or  fish,  from  the  place  of 
production  to  the  place  of  consumption,  and  he 
hits  on  a  railroad.  Every  master  has  found  his 
materials  collected,  and  his  power  lay  in  his  sym 
pathy  with  his  people  and  in  his  love  of  the 
materials  he  wrought  in.  What  an  economy  of 
power  !  and  what  a  compensation  for  the  short 
ness  of  life  !  All  is  done  to  his  hand.  The  world 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      191 

has  brought  him  thus  far  on  his  way.  The  hu 
man  race  has  gone  out  before  him,  sunk  the 
hills,  filled  the  hollows  and  bridged  the  rivers. 
Men,  nations,  poets,  artisans,  women,  all  have 
worked  for  him,  and  he  enters  into  their  labors. 
Choose  any  other  thing,  out  of  the  line  of  tend 
ency,  out  of  the  national  feeling  and  history, 
and  he  would  have  all  to  do  for  himself:  his 
powers  would  be  expended  in  the  first  prepara 
tions.  Great  genial  power,  one  would  almost 
say,  consists  in  not  being  original  at  all ;  in  being 
altogether  receptive  ;  in  letting  the  world  do  all, 
and  suffering  the  spirit  of  the  hour  to  pass  un 
obstructed  through  the  mind.1 

Shakspeare's  youth  fell  in  a  time  when  the 
English  people  were  importunate  for  dramatic 
entertainments.  The  court  took  offence  easily 
at  political  allusions  and  attempted  to  suppress 
them.  The  Puritans,  a  growing  and  energetic 
party,  and  the  religious  among  the  Anglican 
church,  would  suppress  them.  But  the  people 
wanted  them.  Inn-yards,  houses  without  roofs, 
and  extemporaneous  enclosures  at  country  fairs 
were  the  ready  theatres  of  strolling  players. 
The  people  had  tasted  this  new  joy ;  and,  as  we 
could  not  hope  to  suppress  newspapers  now,  — 
no,  not  by  the  strongest  party,  —  neither  then 


192  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

could  king,  prelate,  or  puritan,  alone  or  united, 
suppress  an  organ  which  was  ballad,  epic,  news 
paper,  caucus,  lecture,  Punch  and  library,  at  the 
same  time.  Probably  king,  prelate  and  puritan, 
all  found  their  own  account  in  it.  It  had  be 
come,  by  all  causes,  a  national  interest,  —  by  no 
means  conspicuous,  so  that  some  great  scholar 
would  have  thought  of  treating  it  in  an  Eng 
lish  history,  —  but  not  a  whit  less  considerable 
because  it  was  cheap  and  of  no  account,  like  a 
baker's-shop.  The  best  proof  of  its  vitality  is 
the  crowd  of  writers  which  suddenly  broke  into 
this  field;  Kyd,  Marlow,  Greene,  Jonson,  Chap 
man,  Dekker,  Webster,  Heywood,  Middleton, 
Peele,  Ford,  Massinger,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
The  secure  possession,  by  the  stage,  of  the 
public  mind,  is  of  the  first  importance  to  the 
poet  who  works  for  it.1  He  loses  no  time  in 
idle  experiments.  Here  is  audience  and  expec 
tation  prepared.  In  the  case  of  Shakspeare  there 
is  much  more.  At  the  time  when  he  left  Strat 
ford  and  went  up  to  London,  a  great  body  of 
stage-plays  of  all  dates  and  writers  existed  in 
manuscript  and  were  in  turn  produced  on  the 
boards.  Here  is  the  Tale  of  Troy,  which  the 
audience  will  bear  hearing  some  part  of,  every 
week;  the  Death  of  Julius  Caesar,  and  other 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      193 

stones  out  of  Plutarch,  which  they  never  tire  of; 
a  shelf  full  of  English  history,  from  the  chroni 
cles  of  Brut  and  Arthur,  down  to  the  royal 
Henries,  which  men  hear  eagerly ;  and  a  string 
of  doleful  tragedies,  merry  Italian  tales  and 
Spanish  voyages,  which  all  the  London  'pren 
tices  know.  All  the  mass  has  been  treated,  with 
more  or  less  skill,  by  every  playwright,  and  the 
prompter  has  the  soiled  and  tattered  manu 
scripts.  It  is  now  no  longer  possible  to  say 
who  wrote  them  first.  They  have  been  the 
property  of  the  Theatre  so  long,  and  so  many 
rising  geniuses  have  enlarged  or  altered  them, 
inserting  a  speech  or  a  whole  scene,  or  adding  a 
song,  that  no  man  can  any  longer  claim  copy 
right  in  this  work  of  numbers.  Happily,  no 
man  wishes  to.  They  are  not  yet  desired  in 
that  way.  We  have  few  readers,  many  specta 
tors  and  hearers.  They  had  best  lie  where  they 
are. 

Shakspeare,  in  common  with  his  comrades, 
esteemed  the  mass  of  old  plays  waste  stock,  in 
which  any  experiment  could  be  freely  tried. 
Had  the  prestige  which  hedges  about  a  mod 
ern  tragedy  existed,  nothing  could  have  been 
done.  The  rude  warm  blood  of  the  living  Eng 
land  circulated  in  the  play,  as  in  street-ballads. 


I94  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

and  gave  body  which  he  wanted  to  his  airy  and 
majestic  fancy.  The  poet  needs  a  ground  in 
popular  tradition  on  which  he  may  work,  and 
which,  again,  may  restrain  his  art  within  the  due 
temperance.  It  holds  him  to  the  people,  sup 
plies  a  foundation  for  his  edifice,  and  in  furnish 
ing  so  much  work  done  to  his  hand,  leaves  him 
at  leisure  and  in  full  strength  for  the  audacities 
of  his  imagination.  In  short,  the  poet  owes  to 
his  legend  what  sculpture  owed  to  the  temple. 
Sculpture  in  Egypt  and  in  Greece  grew  up  in 
subordination  to  architecture.  It  was  the  orna 
ment  of  the  temple  wall :  at  first  a  rude  relief 
carved  on  pediments,  then  the  relief  became 
bolder  and  a  head  or  arm  was  projected  from 
the  wall ;  the  groups  being  still  arranged  with 
reference  to  the  building,  which  serves  also  as 
a  frame  to  hold  the  figures;  and  when  at  last 
the  greatest  freedom  of  style  and  treatment  was 
reached,  the  prevailing  genius  of  architecture 
still  enforced  a  certain  calmness  and  continence 
in  the  statue.  As  soon  as  the  statue  was  begun 
for  itself,  and  with  no  reference  to  the  temple 
or  palace,  the  art  began  to  decline:  freak,  ex 
travagance  and  exhibition  took  the  place  of  the 
old  temperance.  This  balance-wheel,  which  the 
sculptor  found  in  architecture,  the  perilous  irri- 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      195 

tability  of  poetic  talent  found  in  the  accumu 
lated  dramatic  materials  to  which  the  people 
were  already  wonted,  and  which  had  a  certain 
excellence  which  no  single  genius,  however  ex 
traordinary,  could  hope  to  create. 

In  point  of  fact  it  appears  that  Shakspeare 
did  owe  debts  in  all  directions,  and  was  able  to 
use  whatever  he  found ;  and  the  amount  of  in 
debtedness  may  be  inferred  from  Malone's  labo 
rious  computations  in  regard  to  the  First,  Sec 
ond  and  Third  parts  of  Henry  VI.,  in  which, 
"out  of  6043  lines,  1771  were  written  by  some 
author  preceding  Shakspeare,  2373  by  him,  on 
the  foundation  laid  by  his  predecessors,  and 
1899  were  entirely  his  own."  And  the  proceed 
ing  investigation  hardly  leaves  a  single  drama  of 
his  absolute  invention.  Malone's  sentence  is  an 
important  piece  of  external  history.  In  Henry 
VIII.  I  think  I  see  plainly  the  cropping  out  of 
the  original  rock  on  which  his  own  finer  stra 
tum  was  laid.  The  first  play  was  written  by  a 
superior,  thoughtful  man,  with  a  vicious  ear. 
I  can  mark  his  lines,  and  know  well  their  ca 
dence.  See  Wolsey's  soliloquy,  and  the  follow 
ing  scene  with  Cromwell,  where  instead  of  the 
metre  of  Shakspeare,  whose  secret  is  that  the 
thought  constructs  the  tune,  so  that  reading  for 


196  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  sense  will  best  bring  out  the  rhythm, — 
here  the  lines  are  constructed  on  a  given  tune, 
and  the  verse  has  even  a  trace  of  pulpit  elo 
quence.  But  the  play  contains  through  all  its 
length  unmistakable  traits  of  Shakspeare's  hand, 
and  some  passages,  as  the  account  of  the  coro 
nation,  are  like  autographs.  What  is  odd,  the 
compliment  to  Queen  Elizabeth  is  in  the  bad 
rhythm.1 

Shakspeare  knew  that  tradition  supplies  a 
better  fable  than  any  invention  can.  If  he  lost 
any  credit  of  design,  he  augmented  his  resources ; 
and,  at  that  day,  our  petulant  demand  for  origi 
nality  was  not  so  much  pressed.  There  was  no 
literature  for  the  million.  The  universal  read 
ing,  the  cheap  press,  were  unknown.  A  great 
poet  who  appears  in  illiterate  times,  absorbs 
into  his  sphere  all  the  light  which  is  any  where 
radiating.  Every  intellectual  jewel,  every  flower 
of  sentiment  it  is  his  fine  office  to  bring  to  his 
people  ;  and  he  comes  to  value  his  memory 
equally  with  his  invention.2  He  is  therefore 
little  solicitous  whence  his  thoughts  have  been 
derived  ;  whether  through  translation,  whether 
through  tradition,  whether  by  travel  in  distant 
countries,  whether  by  inspiration  ;  from  what 
ever  source,  they  are  equally  welcome  to  his 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      197 

uncritical  audience.  Nay,  he  borrows  very  near 
home.  Other  men  say  wise  things  as  well  as  he ; 
only  they  say  a  good  many  foolish  things,  and 
do  not  know  when  they  have  spoken  wisely. 
He  knows  the  sparkle  of  the  true  stone,  and 
puts  it  in  high  place,  wherever  he  finds  it.1  Such 
is  the  happy  position  of  Homer  perhaps ;  of 
Chaucer,  of  Saadi.  They  felt  that  all  wit  was 
their  wit.  And  they  are  librarians  and  historio 
graphers,  as  well  as  poets.  Each  romancer  was 
heir  and  dispenser  of  all  the  hundred  tales  of 
the  world,  — 

"  Presenting  Thebes'  and  Pelops'  line 
And  the  tale  of  Troy  divine."  2 

The  influence  of  Chaucer  is  conspicuous  in  all 
our  early  literature ;  and  more  recently  not  only 
Pope  and  Dryden  have  been  beholden  to  him, 
but,  in  the  whole  society  of  English  writers,  a 
large  unacknowledged  debt  is  easily  traced.  One 
is  charmed  with  the  opulence  which  feeds  so 
many  pensioners.  But  Chaucer  is  a  huge  bor 
rower.  Chaucer,  it  seems,  drew  continually, 
through  Lydgate  and  Caxton,  from  Guido  di 
Colonna,  whose  Latin  romance  of  the  Trojan 
war  was  in  turn  a  compilation  from  Dares  Phry- 
gius,  Ovid  and  Statius.  Then  Petrarch,  Boc 
caccio  and  the  Prove^al  poets  are  his  benefac- 


198  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

tors:  the  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  is  only  judicious 
translation  from  William  of  Lorris  and  John  of 
Meung  :  Troilus  and  Creseide,  from  Lollius  of 
Urbino :  The  Cock  and  the  Fox,  from  the  Lais 
of  Marie  :  The  House  ofFame,  from  the  French 
or  Italian  :  and  poor  Gower  he  uses  as  if  he  were 
only  a  brick-kiln  or  stone-quarry  out  of  which  to 
build  his  house.1  He  steals  by  this  apology, — 
that  what  he  takes  has  no  worth  where  he  finds 
it  and  the  greatest  where  he  leaves  it.  It  has 
come  to  be  practically  a  sort  of  rule  in  literature, 
that  a  man  having  once  shown  himself  capable 
of  original  writing,  is  entitled  thenceforth  to 
steal  from  the  writings  of  others  at  discretion. 
Thought  is  the  property  of  him  who  can  enter 
tain  it  and  of  him  who  can  adequately  place  it. 
A  certain  awkwardness  marks  the  use  of  bor 
rowed  thoughts  ;  but  as  soon  as  we  have  learned 
what  to  do  with  them  they  become  our  own. 

Thus  all  originality  is  relative.  Every  thinker 
is  retrospective.  The  learned  member  of  the 
legislature,  at  Westminster  or  at  Washington, 
speaks  and  votes  for  thousands.  Show  us  the 
constituency,  and  the  now  invisible  channels  by 
which  the  senator  is  made  aware  of  their  wishes  ; 
the  crowd  of  practical  and  knowing  men,  who, 
by  correspondence  or  conversation,  are  feeding 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      199 

him  with  evidence,  anecdotes  and  estimates,  and 
it  will  bereave  his  fine  attitude  and  resistance  of 
something  of  their  impressiveness.  As  Sir  Rob 
ert  Peel  and  Mr.  Webster  vote,  so  Locke  and 
Rousseau  think,  for  thousands ;  and  so  there 
were  fountains  all  around  Homer,1  Menu,  Saadi, 
or  Milton,  from  which  they  drew;  friends, 
lovers,  books,  traditions,  proverbs,  —  all  per 
ished —  which,  if  seen,  would  go  to  reduce  the 
wonder.  Did  the  bard  speak  with  authority  ? 
Did  he  feel  himself  overmatched  by  any  com 
panion  ?  The  appeal  is  to  the  consciousness  of 
the  writer.  Is  there  at  last  in  his  breast  a  Delphi 
whereof  to  ask  concerning  any  thought  or  thing, 
whether  it  be  verily  so,  yea  or  nay  ?  and  to  have 
answer,  and  to  rely  on  that  ?  All  the  debts  which 
such  a  man  could  contract  to  other  wit  would 
never  disturb  his  consciousness  of  originality ; 
for  the  ministrations  of  books  and  of  other  minds 
are  a  whiff  of  smoke  to  that  most  private  reality 
with  which  he  has  conversed.2 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  what  is  best  written  or 
done  by  genius  in  the  world,  was  no  man's  work, 
but  came  by  wide  social  labor,  when  a  thousand 
wrought  like  one,  sharing  the  same  impulse.  Our 
English  Bible  is  a  wonderful  specimen  of  the 
strength  and  music  of  the  English  language.  But 


200  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

it  was  not  made  by  one  man,  or  at  one  time ; 
but  centuries  and  churches  brought  it  to  perfec 
tion.  There  never  was  a  time  when  there  was 
not  some  translation  existing.  The  Liturgy,  ad 
mired  for  its  energy  and  pathos,  is  an  anthology 
of  the  piety  of  ages  and  nations,  a  translation  of 
the  prayers  and  forms  of  the  Catholic  church,  — 
these  collected,  too,  in  long  periods,  from  the 
prayers  and  meditations  of  every  saint  and  sacred 
writer  all  over  the  world.1  Grotius  makes  the 
like  remark  in  respect  to  the  Lord's  Prayer,  that 
the  single  clauses  of  which  it  is  composed  were 
already  in  use  in  the  time  of  Christ,  in  the  Rab 
binical  forms.  He  picked  out  the  grains  of  gold. 
The  nervous  language  of  the  Common  Law,  the 
impressive  forms  of  our  courts  and  the  precision 
and  substantial  truth  of  the  legal  distinctions, 
are  the  contribution  of  all  the  sharp-sighted, 
strong-minded  men  who  have  lived  in  the  coun 
tries  where  these  laws  govern.  The  translation 
of  Plutarch  gets  its  excellence  by  being  trans 
lation  on  translation.  There  never  was  a  time 
when  there  was  none.  All  the  truly  idiomatic 
and  national  phrases  are  kept,  and  all  others 
successively  picked  out  and  thrown  away.  Some 
thing  like  the  same  process  had  gone  on,  long 
before,  with  the  originals  of  these  books.  The 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      201 

world  takes  liberties  with  world-books.  Vedas, 
-flisop's  Fables,  Pilpay,  Arabian  Nights,  Cid, 
Iliad,  Robin  Hood,  Scottish  Minstrelsy,  are 
not  the  work  of  single  men.  In  the  composi 
tion  of  such  works  the  time  thinks,  the  market 
thinks,  the  mason,  the  carpenter,  the  merchant, 
the  farmer,  the  fop,  all  think  for  us.  Every  book 
supplies  its  time  with  one  good  word;  every 
municipal  law,  every  trade,  every  folly  of  the 
day  ;  and  the  generic  catholic  genius  who  is  not 
afraid  or  ashamed  to  owe  his  originality  to  the 
originality  of  all,  stands  with  the  next  age  as  the 
recorder  and  embodiment  of  his  own.1 

We  have  to  thank  the  researches  of  antiqua 
ries,  and  the  Shakspeare  Society,  for  ascertain 
ing  the  steps  of  the  English  drama,  from  the 
Mysteries  celebrated  in  churches  and  by  church 
men,  and  the  final  detachment  from  the  church, 
and  the  completion  of  secular  plays,  from  Ferrex 
and  Porrex,2  and  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle, 
down  to  the  possession  of  the  stage  by  the  very 
pieces  which  Shakspeare  altered,  remodelled 
and  finally  made  his  own.  Elated  with  success 
and  piqued  by  the  growing  interest  of  the  prob 
lem,  they  have  left  no  bookstall  unsearched,  no 
chest  in  a  garret  unopened,  no  file  of  old  yellow 
accounts  to  decompose  in  damp  and  worms,  so 


202 


keen  was  the  hope  to  discover  whether  the  boy 
Shakspeare  poached  or  not,  whether  he  held 
horses  at  the  theatre  door,  whether  he  kept 
school,  and  why  he  left  in  his  will  only  his  sec 
ond-best  bed  to  Ann  Hathaway,  his  wife. 

There  is  somewhat  touching  in  the  madness 
with  which  the  passing  age  mischooses  the  ob 
ject  on  which  all  candles  shine  and  all  eyes  are 
turned ;  the  care  with  which  it  registers  every 
trifle  touching  Queen  Elizabeth  and  King  James, 
and  the  Essexes,  Leicesters,  Burleighs  and  Buck- 
inghams  ;  and  lets  pass  without  a  single  valuable 
note  the  founder  of  another  dynasty,  which  alone 
will  cause  the  Tudor  dynasty  to  be  remembered, 
—  the  man  who  carries  the  Saxon  race  in  him 
by  the  inspiration  which  feeds  him,  and  on  whose 
thoughts  the  foremost  people  of  the  world  are 
now  for  some  ages  to  be  nourished,  and  minds 
to  receive  this  and  not  another  bias.  A  popular 
player  ;  —  nobody  suspected  he  was  the  poet  of 
the  human  race  ;  and  the  secret  was  kept  as  faith 
fully  from  poets  and  intellectual  men  as  from 
courtiers  and  frivolous  people.1  Bacon,  who 
took  the  inventory  of  the  human  understanding 
for  his  times,  never  mentioned  his  name.  Ben 
Jonson,  though  we  have  strained  his  few  words 
of  regard  and  panegyric,  had  no  suspicion  of  the 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      203 

elastic  fame  whose  first  vibrations  he  was  attempt 
ing.  He  no  doubt  thought  the  praise  he  has  con 
ceded  to  him  generous,  and  esteemed  himself, 
out  of  all  question,  the  better  poet  of  the  two. 

If  it  need  wit  to  know  wit,  according  to  the 
proverb,  Shakspeare's  time  should  be  capable 
of  recognizing  it.  Sir  Henry  Wotton  was  born 
four  years  after  Shakspeare,  and  died  twenty- 
three  years  after  him  ;  and  I  find,  among  his  cor 
respondents  and  acquaintances,  the  following 
persons  :  Theodore  Beza,  Isaac  Casaubon,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Lord  Bacon, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  John  Milton,  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  Isaac  Walton,  Dr.  Donne,  Abraham 
Cowley,  Bellarmine,  Charles  Cotton,  John  Pym, 
John  Hales,  Kepler,  Vieta,  Albericus  Gentilis, 
Paul  Sarpi,  Arminius  ;  with  all  of  whom  exists 
some  token  of  his  having  communicated,  with 
out  enumerating  many  others  whom  doubtless 
he  saw,  —  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  Jonson,  Beau 
mont,  Massinger,  the  two  Herberts,  Marlow, 
Chapman  and  the  rest.  Since  the  constellation 
of  great  men  who  appeared  in  Greece  in  the  time 
of  Pericles,  there  was  never  any  such  society  ;  — 
yet  their  genius  failed  them  to  find  out  the  best 
head  in  the  universe.1  Our  poet's  mask  was  im 
penetrable.  You  cannot  see  the  mountain  near. 


204  REPRESENTATIVE    MEN 

It  took  a  century  to  make  it  suspected ;  and  not 
until  two  centuries  had  passed,  after  his  death, 
did  any  criticism  which  we  think  adequate  begin 
to  appear.  It  was  not  possible  to  write  the  his 
tory  of  Shakspeare  till  now ;  for  he  is  the  father 
of  German  literature  :  it  was  with  the  introduc 
tion  of  Shakspeare  into  German,  by  Lessing, 
and  the  translation  of  his  works  by  Wieland  and 
Schlegel,  that  the  rapid  burst  of  German  litera 
ture  was  most  intimately  connected.  It  was  not 
until  the  nineteenth  century,  whose  speculative 
genius  is  a  sort  of  living  Hamlet,  that  the  tragedy 
of  Hamlet  could  find  such  wondering  readers.1 
Now,  literature,  philosophy  and  thought  are 
Shakspearized.  His  mind  is  the  horizon  beyond 
which,  at  present,  we  do  not  see.  Our  ears  are 
educated  to  music  by  his  rhythm.  Coleridge  and 
Goethe  are  the  only  critics  who  have  expressed 
our  convictions  with  any  adequate  fidelity :  but 
there  is  in  all  cultivated  minds  a  silent  apprecia 
tion  of  his  superlative  power  and  beauty,  which, 
like  Christianity,  qualifies  the  period. 

The  Shakspeare  Society  have  inquired  in  all 
directions,  advertised  the  missing  facts,  offered 
money  for  any  information  that  will  lead  to 
proof,  —  and  with  what  result  ?  Beside  some 
important  illustration  of  the  history  of  the  Eng- 


SHAKSPEARE;    OR,  THE  POET      205 

lish  stage,  to  which  I  have  adverted,  they  have 
gleaned  a  few  facts  touching  the  property,  and 
dealings  in  regard  to  property,  of  the  poet.  It 
appears  that  from  year  to  year  he  owned  a  larger 
share  in  the  Blackfriars'  Theatre :  its  wardrobe 
and  other  appurtenances  were  his :  that  he 
bought  an  estate  in  his  native  village  with  his 
earnings  as  writer  and  shareholder ;  that  he  lived 
in  the  best  house  in  Stratford ;  was  intrusted  by 
his  neighbors  with  their  commissions  in  London, 
as  of  borrowing  money,  and  the  like ;  that  he 
was  a  veritable  farmer.  About  the  time  when 
he  was  writing  Macbeth,  he  sues  Philip  Rogers, 
in  the  borough-court  of  Stratford,  for  thirty-five 
shillings,  ten  pence,  for  corn  delivered  to  him 
at  different  times  ;  and  in  all  respects  appears  as 
a  good  husband,  with  no  reputation  for  eccen 
tricity  or  excess.  He  was  a  good-natured  sort 
of  man,  an  actor  and  shareholder  in  the  theatre, 
not  in  any  striking  manner  distinguished  from 
other  actors  and  managers.1  I  admit  the  im 
portance  of  this  information.  It  was  well  worth 
the  pains  that  have  been  taken  to  procure  it. 

But  whatever  scraps  of  information  concern 
ing  his  condition  these  researches  may  have  res 
cued,  they  can  shed  no  light  upon  that  infinite 
invention  which  is  the  concealed  magnet  of  his 


206  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

attraction  for  us.  We  are  very  clumsy  writers 
of  history.  We  tell  the  chronicle  of  parentage, 
birth,  birth-place,  schooling,  school-mates,  earn 
ing  of  money,  marriage,  publication  of  books, 
celebrity,  death  ;  and  when  we  have  come  to  an 
end  of  this  gossip,  no  ray  of  relation  appears 
between  it  and  the  goddess-born  ;  and  it  seems 
as  if,  had  we  dipped  at  random  into  the  "  Mod 
ern  Plutarch,"  and  read  any  other  life  there,  it 
would  have  fitted  the  poems  as  well.1  It  is  the 
essence  of  poetry  to  spring,  like  the  rainbow 
daughter  of  Wonder,  from  the  invisible,  to 
abolish  the  past  and  refuse  all  history.  Malone, 
Warburton,  Dyce  and  Collier  have  wasted  their 
oil.  The  famed  theatres,  Covent  Garden,  Drury 
Lane,  the  Park  and  Tremont  have  vainly  as 
sisted.  Betterton,  Garrick,  Kemble,  Kean  and 
Macready  dedicate  their  lives  to  this  genius ; 
him  they  crown,  elucidate,  obey  and  express. 
The  genius  knows  them  not.  The  recitation 
begins ;  one  golden  word  leaps  out  immortal 
from  all  this  painted  pedantry  and  sweetly  tor 
ments  us  with  invitations  to  its  own  inaccessi 
ble  homes.  I  remember  I  went  once  to  see  the 
Hamlet  of  a  famed  performer,  the  pride  of  the 
English  stage ;  and  all  I  then  heard  and  all  I 
now  remember  of  the  tragedian  was  that  in  which 


SHAKSPEARE;   OR,  THE  POET      207 

the  tragedian  had  no  part ;  simply  Hamlet's 
question  to  the  ghost :  — 

"What  may  this  mean, 

That  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 
Revisit' st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  ?" 

That  imagination  which  dilates  the  closet  he 
writes  in  to  the  world's  dimension,  crowds  it 
with  agents  in  rank  and  order,  as  quickly  re 
duces  the  big  reality  to  be  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon.1  These  tricks  of  his  magic  spoil  for  us 
the  illusions  of  the  green-room.  Can  any  bio- 
gi^phy  shed  light  on  the  localities  into  which 
the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  admits  me  ? 
Did  Shakspeare  confide  to  any  notary  or  par 
ish  recorder,  sacristan,  or  surrogate  in  Stratford, 
the  genesis  of  that  delicate  creation  ?  The  for 
est  of  Arden,  the  nimble  air  of  Scone  Castle, 
the  moonlight  of  Portia's  villa,  "  the  antres  vast 
and  desartsidle"  of  Othello's  captivity,  —  where 
is  the  third  cousin,  or  grand-nephew,  the  chan 
cellor's  file  of  accounts,  or  private  letter,  that 
has  kept  one  word  of  those  transcendent  se 
crets  ?  In  fine,  in  this  drama,  as  in  all  great 
works  of  art,  —  in  the  Cyclopaean  architecture 
of  Egypt  and  India,  in  the  Phidian  sculpture, 
the  Gothic  minsters,  the  Italian  painting,  the 
Ballads  of  Spain  and  Scotland,  —  the  Genius 


208  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

draws  up  the  ladder  after  him,  when  the  crea 
tive  age  goes  up  to  heaven,  and  gives  way  to  a 
new  age,  which  sees  the  works  and  asks  in  vain 

O     ' 

for  a  history. 

Shakspeare  is  the  only  biographer  of  Shak- 
speare;  and  even  he  can  tell  nothing,  except  to 
the  Shakspeare  in  us,  that  is,  to  our  most  appre 
hensive  and  sympathetic  hour.1  He  cannot  step 
from  off  his  tripod  and  give  us  anecdotes  of  his 
inspirations.  Read  the  antique  documents  ex 
tricated,  analyzed  and  compared  by  the  assidu 
ous  Dyce  and  Collier,  and  now  read  one  of  these 
skyey  sentences,  —  aerolites,  —  which  seem  to 
have  fallen  out  of  heaven,  and  which  not  your 
experience  but  the  man  within  the  breast  has 
accepted  as  words  of  fate,  and  tell  me  if  they 
match  ;  if  the  former  account  in  any  manner  for 
the  latter ;  or  which  gives  the  most  historical 
insight  into  the  man. 

Hence,  though  our  external  history  is  so 
meagre,  yet,  with  Shakspeare  for  biographer,  in 
stead  of  Aubrey  and  Rowe,  we  have  really  the 
information  which  is  material ;  that  which  de 
scribes  character  and  fortune,  that  which,  if  we 
were  about  to  meet  the  man  and  deal  with  him, 
would  most  import  us  to  know.  We  have  his 
recorded  convictions  on  those  questions  which 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      209 

knock  for  answer  at  every  heart,  —  on  life  and 
death,  on  love,  on  wealth  and  poverty,  on  the 
prizes  of  life  and  the  ways  whereby  we  come 
at  them;  on  the  characters  of  men,  and  the 
influences,  occult  and  open,  which  affect  their 
fortunes  ;  and  on  those  mysterious  and  demoni 
acal  powers  which  defy  our  science  and  which 
yet  interweave  their  malice  and  their  gift  in  our 
brightest  hours.  Who  ever  read  the  volume 
of  the  Sonnets  without  finding  that  the  poet  had 
there  revealed,  under  masks  that  are  no  masks  to 
the  intelligent,  the  lore  of  friendship  and  of  love; 
the  confusion  of  sentiments  in  the  most  sus 
ceptible,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  intel 
lectual  of  men  ?  What  trait  of  his  private  mind 
has  he  hidden  in  his  dramas  ?  One  can  discern, 
in  his  ample  pictures  of  the  gentleman  and  the 
king,  what  forms  and  humanities  pleased  him  ; 
his  delight  in  troops  of  friends,  in  large  hospi 
tality,  in  cheerful  giving.  Let  Timon,  let  War 
wick,  let  Antonio  the  merchant  answer  for  his 
great  heart.  So  far  from  Shakspeare's  being  the 
least  known,  he  is  the  one  person,  in  all  modern 
history,  known  to  us.  What  point  of  morals, 
of  manners,  of  economy,  of  philosophy,  of  re 
ligion,  of  taste,  of  the  conduct  of  life,  has  he  not 
settled  ?  What  mystery  has  he  not  signified  his 


210  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

knowledge  of?  What  office,  or  function,  or  dis 
trict  of  man's  work,  has  he  not  remembered  ? 
What  king  has  he  not  taught  state,  as  Talma 
taught  Napoleon  ?  What  maiden  has  not  found 
him  finer  than  her  delicacy  ?  What  lover  has  he 
not  outloved  ?  What  sage  has  he  not  outseen  ? 
What  gentleman  has  he  not  instructed  in  the 
rudeness  of  his  behavior  ? 

Some  able  and  appreciating  critics  think  no 
criticism  on  Shakspeare  valuable  that  does  not 
rest  purely  on  the  dramatic  merit ;  that  he  is 
falsely  judged  as  poet  and  philosopher.  I  think 
as  highly  as  these  critics  of  his  dramatic  merit, 
but  still  think  it  secondary.  He  was  a  full  man, 
who  liked  to  talk ;  a  brain  exhaling  thoughts 
and  images,  which,  seeking  vent,  found  the  drama 
next  at  hand.1  Had  he  been  less,  we  should  have 
had  to  consider  how  well  he  filled  his  place,  how 
good  a  dramatist  he  was,  —  and  he  is  the  best 
?n  the  world.  But  it  turns  out  that  what  he 
has  to  say  is  of  that  weight  as  to  withdraw  some 
attention  from  the  vehicle ;  and  he  is  like  some 
saint  whose  history  is  to  be  rendered  into  all 
languages,  into  verse  and  prose,  into  songs  and 
pictures,  and  cut  up  into  proverbs ;  so  that  the 
occasion  which  gave  the  saint's  meaning  the  form 
of  a  conversation,  or  of  a  prayer,  or  of  a  code  of 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      211 

laws,  is  immaterial  compared  with  the  univer 
sality  of  its  application.  So  it  fares  with  the  wise 
Shakspeare  and  his  book  of  life.  He  wrote  the 
airs  for  all  our  modern  music  :  he  wrote  the  text 
of  modern  life  ;  the  text  of  manners  :  he  drew 
the  man  of  England  and  Europe  ;  the  father  of 
the  man  in  America; '  he  drew  the  man,  and  de 
scribed  the  day,  and  what  is  done  in  it :  he  read 
the  hearts  of  men  and  women,  their  probity, 
and  their  second  thought  and  wiles  ;  the  wiles 
of  innocence,  and  the  transitions  by  which  vir 
tues  and  vices  slide  into  their  contraries  :  he 
could  divide  the  mother's  part  from  the  father's 
part  in  the  face  of  the  child,  or  draw  the  fine 
demarcations  of  freedom  and  of  fate  :  he  knew 
the  laws  of  repression  which  make  the  police  of 
nature :  and  all  the  sweets  and  all  the  terrors  of 
human  lot  lay  in  his  mind  as  truly  but  as  softly 
as  the  landscape  lies  on  the  eye.  And  the  im 
portance  of  this  wisdom  of  life  sinks  the  form, 
as  of  Drama  or  Epic,  out  of  notice.  '  T  is  like 
making  a  question  concerning  the  paper  on  which 
a  king's  message  is  written. 

Shakspeare  is  as  much  out  of  the  category  of 
eminent  authors,  as  he  is  out  of  the  crowd.  He 
is  inconceivably  wise  ;  the  others,  conceivably. 
A  good  reader  can,  in  a  sort,  nestle  into  Plato's 


212  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

brain  and  think  from  thence  ;  but  not  into  Shak- 
speare's.  We  are  still  out  of  doors.  For  execu 
tive  faculty,  for  creation,  Shakspeare  is  unique. 
No  man  can  imagine  it  better.  He  was  the  far 
thest  reach  of  subtlety  compatible  with  an  indi 
vidual  self,  —  the  subtilest  of  authors,  and  only 
just  within  the  possibility  of  authorship.1  With 
this  wisdom  of  life  is  the  equal  endowment  of 
imaginative  and  of  lyric  power.  He  clothed  the 
creatures  of  his  legend  with  form  and  sentiments 
as  if  they  were  people  who  had  lived  under  his 
roof;  and  few  real  men  have  left  such  distinct 
characters  as  these  fictions.  And  they  spoke  in 
language  as  sweet  as  it  was  fit.  Yet  his  talents 
never  seduced  him  into  an  ostentation,  nor  did 
he  harp  on  one  string.  An  omnipresent  human 
ity  co-ordinates  all  his  faculties.  Give  a  man  of 
talents  a  story  to  tell,  and  his  partiality  will  pre 
sently  appear.  He  has  certain  observations, 
opinions,  topics,  which  have  some  accidental 
prominence,  and  which  he  disposes  all  to  exhibit. 
He  crams  this  part  and  starves  that  other  part, 
consulting  not  the  fitness  of  the  thing,  but  his 
fitness  and  strength.  But  Shakspeare  has  no 
peculiarity,  no  importunate  topic  ;  but  all  is  duly 
given  ;  no  veins,  no  curiosities  ;  no  cow-painter, 
no  bird-fancier,  no  mannerist  is  he :  he  has  no 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      213 

discoverable  egotism  :  the  great  he  tells  greatly; 
the  small  subordinately.  He  is  wise  without 
emphasis  or  assertion  ;  he  is  strong,  as  nature  is 
strong,  who  lifts  the  land  into  mountain  slopes 
without  effort  and  by  the  same  rule  as  she  floats 
a  bubble  in  the  air,  and  likes  as  well  to  do  the 
one  as  the  other.  This  makes  that  equality  of 
power  in  farce,  tragedy,  narrative,  and  love-songs ; 
a  merit  so  incessant  that  each  reader  is  incredu 
lous  of  the  perception  of  other  readers. 

This  power  of  expression,  or  of  transferring 
the  inmost  truth  of  things  into  music  and  verse, 
makes  him  the  type  of  the  poet  and  has  added 
a  new  problem  to  metaphysics.  This  is  that 
which  throws  him  into  natural  history,  as  a  main 
production  of  the  globe,  and  as  announcing  new 
eras  and  ameliorations.  Things  were  mirrored 
in  his  poetry  without  loss  or  blur  :  he  could  paint 
the  fine  with  precision,  the  great  with  compass, 
the  tragic  and  the  comic  indifferently  and  with 
out  any  distortion  or  favor.  He  carried  his 
powerful  execution  into  minute  details,  to  a  hair 
point ;  finishes  an  eyelash  or  a  dimple  as  firmly 
as  he  draws  a  mountain ;  and  yet  these,  like 
nature's,  will  bear  the  scrutiny  of  the  solar  micro 
scope. 

In  short,  he  is  the  chief  example  to  prove 


2i4  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

that  more  or  less  of  production,  more  or  fewer 
pictures,  is  a  thing  indifferent.  He  had  the 
power  to  make  one  picture.  Daguerre  learned 
how  to  let  one  flower  etch  its  image  on  his  plate 
of  iodine,  and  then  proceeds  at  leisure  to  etch  a 
million.  There  are  always  objects  ;  but  there  was 
never  representation.  Here  is  perfect  represen 
tation,  at  last ;  and  now  let  the  world  of  figures 
sit  for  their  portraits.  No  recipe  can  be  given 
for  the  making  of  a  Shakspeare ;  but  the  possi 
bility  of  the  translation  of  things  into  song  is 
demonstrated. 

His  lyric  power  lies  in  the  genius  of  the  piece. 
The  sonnets,  though  their  excellence  is  lost  in 
the  splendor  of  the  dramas,  are  as  inimitable  as 
they  ;  and  it  is  not  a  merit  of  lines,  but  a  total 
merit  of  the  piece  ;  like  the  tone  of  voice  of  some 
incomparable  person,  so  is  this  a  speech  of 
poetic  beings,  and  any  clause  as  unproducible 
now  as  a  whole  poem. 

Though  the  speeches  in  the  plays,  and  single 
lines,  have  a  beauty  which  tempts  the  ear  to 
pause  on  them  for  their  euphuism,  yet  the  sen 
tence  is  so  loaded  with  meaning  and  so  linked 
with  its  foregoers  and  followers,  that  the  logician 
is  satisfied.  His  means  are  as  admirable  as  his 
ends  ;  every  subordinate  invention,  by  which  he 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      215 

helps  himself  to  connect  some  irreconcilable 
opposites,  is  a  poem  too.  He  is  not  reduced  to 
dismount  and  walk  because  his  horses  are  run 
ning  off  with  him  in  some  distant  direction  :  he 
always  rides. 

The  finest  poetry  was  first  experience ;  but  the 
thought  has  suffered  a  transformation  since  it 
was  an  experience.  Cultivated  men  often  attain 
a  good  degree  of  skill  in  writing  verses ;  but  it  is 
easy  to  read,  through  their  poems,  their  personal 
history :  any  one  acquainted  with  the  parties  can 
name  every  figure ;  this  is  Andrew  and  that  is 
Rachel.  The  sense  thus  remains  prosaic.  It  is 
a  caterpillar  with  wings,  and  not  yet  a  butterfly. 
In  the  poet's  mind  the  fact  has  gone  quite  over 
into  the  new  element  of  thought,  and  has  lost 
all  that  is  exuvial.  This  generosity  abides  with 
Shakspeare.  We  say,  from  the  truth  and  close 
ness  of  his  pictures,  that  he  knows  the  lesson  by 
heart.  Yet  there  is  not  a  trace  of  egotism. 

One  more  royal  trait  properly  belongs  to  the 
poet.  I  mean  his  cheerfulness,  without  which 
no  man  can  be  a  poet,  —  for  beauty  is  his  aim. 
He  loves  virtue,  not  for  its  obligation  but  for 
its  grace :  he  delights  in  the  world,  in  man,  in 
woman,  for  the  lovely  light  that  sparkles  from 
them.  Beauty,  the  spirit  of  joy  and  hilarity,  he 


216  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

sheds  over  the  universe.  Epicurus  relates  that 
poetry  hath  such  charms  that  a  lover  might  for 
sake  his  mistress  to  partake  of  them.  And  the 
true  bards  have  been  noted  for  their  firm  and 
cheerful  temper.  Homer  lies  in  sunshine  ;  Chau 
cer  is  glad  and  erect ;  and  Saadi  says,  "  It  was 
rumored  abroad  that  I  was  penitent ;  but  what 
had  I  to  do  with  repentance  ? "  '  Not  less  sover 
eign  and  cheerful,  —  much  more  sovereign  and 
cheerful,  is  the  tone  of  Shakspeare.  His  name 
suggests  joy  and  emancipation  to  the  heart  of 
men.  If  he  should  appear  in  any  company  of 
human  souls,  who  would  not  march  in  his  troop  ? 
He  touches  nothing  that  does  not  borrow  health 
and  longevity  from  his  festal  style. 

And  now,  how  stands  the  account  of  man  with 
this  bard  and  benefactor,  when,  in  solitude,  shut 
ting  our  ears  to  the  reverberations  of  his  fame, 
we  seek  to  strike  the  balance  ?  Solitude  has 
austere  lessons ;  it  can  teach  us  to  spare  both 
heroes  and  poets  ;  and  it  weighs  Shakspeare  also, 
and  finds  him  to  share  the  halfness  and  imper 
fection  of  humanity. 

Shakspeare,  Homer,  Dante,  Chaucer,  saw  the 
splendor  of  meaning  that  plays  over  the  visible 
world ;  knew  that  a  tree  had  another  use  than 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      217 

for  apples,  and  corn  another  than  for  meal,  and 
the  ball  of  the  earth,  than  for  tillage  and  roads  : 
that  these  things  bore  a  second  and  finer  harvest 
to  the  mind,  being  emblems  of  its  thoughts,  and 
conveying  in  all  their  natural  history  a  certain 
mute  commentary  on  human  life.1  Shakspeare 
employed  them  as  colors  to  compose  his  picture. 
He  rested  in  their  beauty  ;  and  never  took  the 
step  which  seemed  inevitable  to  such  genius, 
namely  to  explore  the  virtue  which  resides  in 
these  symbols  and  imparts  this  power  :  —  what 
is  that  which  they  themselves  say  ?  He  con 
verted  the  elements  which  waited  on  his  com 
mand,  into  entertainments.  He  was  master  of 
the  revels  to  mankind.  Is  it  not  as  if  one  should 
have,  through  majestic  powers  of  science,  the 
comets  given  into  his  hand,  or  the  planets  and 
their  moons,  and  should  draw  them  from  their 
orbits  to  glare  with  the  municipal  fireworks  on 
a  holiday  night,  and  advertise  in  all  towns, 
"  Very  superior  pyrotechny  this  evening"  ?  Are 
the  agents  of  nature,  and  the  power  to  under 
stand  them,  worth  no  more  than  a  street  ser 
enade,  or  the  breath  of  a  cigar  ?  One  remem 
bers  again  the  trumpet-text  in  the  Koran,  — 
"  The  heavens  and  the  earth  and  all  that  is 
between  them,  think  ye  we  have  created  them 


218  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

in  jest  ?  "  As  long  as  the  question  is  of  talent 
and  mental  power,  the  world  of  men  has  not  his 
equal  to  show.  But  when  the  question  is,  to  life 
and  its  materials  and  its  auxiliaries,  how  does  he 
profit  me?  What  does  it  signify?  It  is  but  a 
Twelfth  Night,  or  Midsummer-Night's  Dream, 
or  Winter  Evening's  Tale :  what  signifies  an 
other  picture  more  or  less  ?  The  Egyptian  ver 
dict  of  the  Shakspeare  Societies  comes  to  mind  ; 
that  he  was  a  jovial  actor  and  manager.  I  can 
not  marry  this  fact  to  his  verse.  Other  admirable 
men  have  led  lives  in  some  sort  of  keeping  with 
their  thought;  but  this  man,  in  wide  contrast. 
Had  he  been  less,  had  he  reached  only  the  com 
mon  measure  of  great  authors,  of  Bacon,  Milton, 
Tasso,  Cervantes,  we  might  leave  the  fact  in  the 
twilight  of  human  fate  :  but  that  this  man  of  men, 
he  who  gave  to  the  science  of  mind  a  new  and 
larger  subject  than  had  ever  existed,  and  planted 
the  standard  of  humanity  some  furlongs  forward 
into  Chaos,  —  that  he  should  not  be  wise  for 
himself;  —  it  must  even  go  into  the  world's 
history  that  the  best  poet  led  an  obscure  and 
profane  life,  using  his  genius  for  the  public 
amusement.1 

Well,  other  men,  priest  and  prophet,  Israelite, 
German  and  Swede,  beheld  the  same  objects: 


SHAKSPEARE;  OR,  THE  POET      219 

they  also  saw  through  them  that  which  was 
contained.  And  to  what  purpose  ?  The  beauty 
straightway  vanished;  they  read  commandments, 
all-excluding  mountainous  duty  ;  an  obligation, 
a  sadness,  as  of  piled  mountains,  fell  on  them, 
and  life  became  ghastly,  joyless,  a  pilgrim's  pro 
gress,  a  probation,  beleaguered  round  with  dole 
ful  histories  of  Adam's  fall  and  curse  behind  us; 
with  doomsdays  and  purgatorial  and  penal  fires 
before  us ;  and  the  heart  of  the  seer  and  the 
heart  of  the  listener  sank  in  them. 

It  must  be  conceded  that  these  are  half-views 
of  half-men.  The  world  still  wants  its  poet- 
priest,  a  reconciler,  who  shall  not  trifle,  with 
Shakspeare  the  player,  nor  shall  grope  in  graves, 
with  Swedenborg  the  mourner  ;  but  who  shall 
see,  speak,  and  act,  with  equal  inspiration.  For 
knowledge  will  brighten  the  sunshine ;  right  is 
more  beautiful  than  private  affection ;  and  love 
is  compatible  with  universal  wisdom/ 


VI 


NAPOLEON  ;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF 
THE  WORLD 


NAPOLEON;   OR,  THE  MAN 
OF   THE   WORLD 

AMONG  the  eminent  persons  of  the  nine 
teenth  century,  Bonaparte  is  far  the  best 
known  and  the  most  powerful ;  and  owes  his 
predominance  to  the  fidelity  with  which  he  ex 
presses  the  tone  of  thought  and  belief,  the  aims 
of  the  masses  of  active  and  cultivated  men.  It 
is  Swedenborg's  theory  that  every  organ  is  made 
up  of  homogeneous  particles ;  or  as  it  is  some 
times  expressed,  every  whole  is  made  of  simi 
lars  ;  that  is,  the  lungs  are  composed  of  infinitely 
small  lungs  ;  the  liver,  of  infinitely  small  livers  ; 
the  kidney,  of  little  kidneys,1  etc.  Following 
this  analogy,  if  any  man  is  found  to  carry  with 
him  the  power  and  affections  of  vast  numbers, 
if  Napoleon  is  France,  if  Napoleon  is  Europe, 
it  is  because  the  people  whom  he  sways  are 
little  Napoleons. 

In  our  society  there  is  a  standing  antagonism 
between  the  conservative  and  the  democratic 
classes ;  between  those  who  have  made  their 
fortunes,  and  the  young  and  the  poor  who  have 
fortunes  to  make  ;  between  the  interests  of  dead 
labor,  —  that  is,  the  labor  of  hands  long  ago 


224  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

still  in  the  grave,  which  labor  is  now  entombed 
in  money  stocks,  or  in  land  and  buildings  owned 
by  idle  capitalists,  —  and  the  interests  of  living 
labor,  which  seeks  to  possess  itself  of  land  and 
buildings  and  money  stocks.  The  first  class  is 
timid,  selfish,  illiberal,  hating  innovation,  and 
continually  losing  numbers  by  death.  The  sec 
ond  class  is  selfish  also,  encroaching,  bold,  self- 
relying,  always  outnumbering  the  other  and 
recruiting  its  numbers  every  hour  by  births.  It 
desires  to  keep  open  every  avenue  to  the  com 
petition  of  all,  and  to  multiply  avenues :  the 
class  of  business  men  in  America,  in  England, 
in  France  and  throughout  Europe ;  the  class  of 
industry  and  skill.  Napoleon  is  its  represent 
ative.  The  instinct  of  active,  brave,  able  men, 
throughout  the  middle  class  every  where,  has 
pointed  out  Napoleon  as  the  incarnate  Demo 
crat.  He  had  their  virtues  and  their  vices ;  above 
all,  he  had  their  spirit  or  aim.  That  tendency 
is  material,  pointing  at  a  sensual  success  and 
employing  the  richest  and  most  various  means 
to  that  end;  conversant  with  mechanical  powers, 
highly  intellectual,  widely  and  accurately  learned 
and  skilful,  but  subordinating  all  intellectual  and 
spiritual  forces  into  means  to  a  material  success. 
To  be  the  rich  man,  is  the  end.  "  God  has 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     225 

granted,"  says  the  Koran,  "  to  every  people  a 
prophet  in  its  own  tongue."  Paris  and  Lon 
don  and  New  York,  the  spirit  of  commerce,  of 
money  and  material  power,  were  also  to  have 
their  prophet ;  and  Bonaparte  was  qualified  and 
sent. 

Every  one  of  the  million  readers  of  anecdotes 
or  memoirs  or  lives  of  Napoleon,  delights  in  the 
page,  because  he  studies  in  it  his  own  history.1 
Napoleon  is  thoroughly  modern,  and,  at  the 
highest  point  of  his  fortunes,  has  the  very  spirit 
of  the  newspapers.  He  is  no  saint,  —  to  use  his 
own  word,  "  no  capuchin,"  and  he  is  no  hero, 
in  the  high  sense.  The  man  in  the  street  finds 
in  him  the  qualities  and  powers  of  other  men 
in  the  street.  He  finds  him,  like  himself,  by 
birth  a  citizen,  who,  by  very  intelligible  merits, 
arrived  at  such  a  commanding  position  that  he 
could  indulge  all  those  tastes  which  the  com 
mon  man  possesses  but  is  obliged  to  conceal 
and  deny :  good  society,  good  books,  fast  trav 
elling,  dress,  dinners,  servants  without  number, 
personal  weight,  the  execution  of  his  ideas,  the 
standing  in  the  attitude  of  a  benefactor  to  all 
persons  about  him,  the  refined  enjoyments  of 
pictures,  statues,  music,  palaces  and  conven 
tional  honors,  —  precisely  what  is  agreeable  to 


IV 


226  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  heart  of  every  man  in  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury,  this  powerful  man  possessed. 

It  is  true  that  a  man  of  Napoleon's  truth  of 
adaptation  to  the  mind  of  the  masses  around 
him,  becomes  not  merely  representative  but 
actually  a  monopolizer  and  usurper  of  other 
minds.  Thus  Mirabeau  plagiarized  every  good 
thought,  every  good  word  that  was  spoken  in 
France.  Dumont  relates  that  he  sat  in  the 
gallery  of  the  Convention  and  heard  Mirabeau 
make  a  speech.  It  struck  Dumont  that  he  could 
fit  it  with  a  peroration,  which  he  wrote  in  pencil 
immediately,  and  showed  it  to  Lord  Elgin,  who 
sat  by  him.  Lord  Elgin  approved  it,  and  Du 
mont,  in  the  evening,  showed  it  to  Mirabeau. 
Mirabeau  read  it,  pronounced  it  admirable,  and 
declared  he  would  incorporate  it  into  his  ha 
rangue  to-morrow,  to  the  Assembly.  "  It  is  im 
possible,"  said  Dumont,  "as,  unfortunately,  I 
have  shown  it  to  Lord  Elgin."  "  If  you  have 
shown  it  to  Lord  Elgin  and  to  fifty  persons  be 
side,  I  shall  still  speak  it  to-morrow : "  and  he 
did  speak  it,  with  much  effect,  at  the  next  day's 
session.  For  Mirabeau,  with  his  overpowering 
personality,  felt  that  these  things  which  his  pre 
sence  inspired  were  as  much  his  own  as  if  he  had 
said  them,  and  that  his  adoption  of  them  gave 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     227 

them  their  weight.  Much  more  absolute  and 
centralizing  was  the  successor  to  Mirabeau's 
popularity  and  to  much  more  than  his  predomi 
nance  in  France.  Indeed,  a  man  of  Napoleon's 
stamp  almost  ceases  to  have  a  private  speech 
and  opinion.  He  is  so  largely  receptive,  and  is 
so  placed,  that  he  comes  to  be  a  bureau  for  all 
the  intelligence,  wit  and  power  of  the  age  and 
country.  He  gains  the  battle ;  he  makes  the 
code ;  he  makes  the  system  of  weights  and  mea 
sures  ;  he  levels  the  Alps ;  he  builds  the  road. 
All  distinguished  engineers,  savans,  statists,  re 
port  to  him  :  so  likewise  do  all  good  heads  in 
every  kind :  he  adopts  the  best  measures,  sets 
his  stamp  on  them,  and  not  these  alone,  but  on 
every  happy  and  memorable  expression.  Every 
sentence  spoken  by  Napoleon  and  every  line  of 
his  writing,  deserves  reading,  as  it  is  the  sense 
of  France. 

Bonaparte  was  the  idol  of  common  men  be 
cause  he  had  in  transcendent  degree  the  qualities 
and  powers  of  common  men.  There  is  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  coming  down  to  the  lowest  ground 
of  politics,  for  we  get  rid  of  cant  and  hypocrisy. 
Bonaparte  wrought,  in  common  with  that  great 
class  he  represented,  for  power  and  wealth,  — 
but  Bonaparte,  specially,  without  any  scruple  as 


228  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

to  the  means.  All  the  sentiments  which  em 
barrass  men's  pursuit  of  these  objects,  he  set 
aside.  The  sentiments  were  for  women  and  chil 
dren.  Fontanes,  in  1804,  expressed  Napoleon's 
own  sense,  when  in  behalf  of  the  Senate  he  ad 
dressed  him,  —  "  Sire,  the  desire  of  perfection  is 
the  worst  disease  that  ever  afflicted  the  human 
mind."  The  advocates  of  liberty  and  of  pro 
gress  are  "  ideologists  ;  "  —  a  word  of  contempt 
often  in  his  mouth; — "  Necker  is  an  ideolo 
gist  :  "  "  Lafayette  is  an  ideologist."  1 

An  Italian  proverb,  too  well  known,  declares 
that  "  if  you  would  succeed,  you  must  not  be 
too  good."  It  is  an  advantage,  within  certain 
limits,  to  have  renounced  the  dominion  of  the 
sentiments  of  piety,  gratitude  and  generosity ; 
since  what  was  an  impassable  bar  to  us,  and  still 
is  to  others,  becomes  a  convenient  weapon  for 
our  purposes  ;  just  as  the  river  which  was  a 
formidable  barrier,  winter  transforms  into  the 
smoothest  of  roads. 

Napoleon  renounced,  once  for  all,  sentiments 
and  affections,  and  would  help  himself  with  his 
hands  and  his  head.  With  him  is  no  miracle  and 
no  magic.  He  is  a  worker  in  brass,  in  iron,  in 
wood,  in  earth,  in  roads,  in  buildings,  in  money 
and  in  troops,  and  a  very  consistent  and  wise 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     229 

master-workman.  He  is  never  weak  and  liter 
ary,  but  acts  with  the  solidity  and  the  precision 
of  natural  agents.  He  has  not  lost  his  native 
sense  and  sympathy  with  things.1  Men  give  way 
before  such  a  man,  as  before  natural  events.  To 
be  sure  there  are  men  enough  who  are  immersed 
in  things,  as  farmers,  smiths,  sailors  and  mechan 
ics  generally  ;  and  we  know  how  real  and  solid 
such  men  appear  in  the  presence  of  scholars  and 
grammarians  :  but  these  men  ordinarily  lack  the 
power  of  arrangement,  and  are  like  hands  wit^i- 
out  a  head.  But  Bonaparte  superadded  to  this 
mineral  and  animal  force,  insight  and  generali 
zation,  so  that  men  saw  in  him  combined  the 
natural  and  the  intellectual  power,  as  if  the  sea 
and  land  had  taken  flesh  and  begun  to  cipher. 
Therefore  the  land  and  sea  seem  to  presuppose 
him.  He  came  unto  his  own  and  they  received 
him.  This  ciphering  operative  knows  what  he 
is  working  with  and  what  is  the  product.  He 
knew  the  properties  of  gold  and  iron,  of  wheels 
and  ships,  of  troops  and  diplomatists,  and  re 
quired  that  each  should  do  after  its  kind. 

The  art  of  war  was  the  game  in  which  he 
exerted  his  arithmetic.  It  consisted,  according 
to  him,  in  having  always  more  forces  than 
the  enemy,  on  the  point  where  the  enemy  is 


230  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

attacked,  or  where  he  attacks  :  and  his  whole 
talent  is  strained  by  endless  manoeuvre  and 
evolution,  to  march  always  on  the  enemy  at  an 
angle,  and  destroy  his  forces  in  detail.  It  is 
obvious  that  a  very  small  force,  skilfully  and 
rapidly  manoeuvring  so  as  always  to  bring  two 
men  against  one  at  the  point  of  engagement, 
will  be  an  overmatch  for  a  much  larger  body 
of  men. 

The  times,  his  constitution  and  his  early  cir 
cumstances  combined  to  develop  this  pattern 
democrat.  He  had  the  virtues  of  his  class  and 
the  conditions  for  their  activity.  That  common- 
sense  which  no  sooner  respects  any  end  than  it 
finds  the  means  to  effect  it ;  the  delight  in  the 
use  of  means;  in  the  choice,  simplification  and 
combining  of  means ;  the  directness  and  thor 
oughness  of  his  work  ;  the  prudence  with  which 
all  was  seen  and  the  energy  with  which  all  was 
done,  make  him  the  natural  organ  and  head  of 
what  I  may  almost  call,  from  its  extent,  the 
modern  party.1 

Nature  must  have  far  the  greatest  share  in 
every  success,  and  so  in  his.  Such  a  man  was 
wanted,  and  such  a  man  was  born ;  a  man  of 
stone  and  iron,  capable  of  sitting  on  horseback 
sixteen  or  seventeen  hours,  of  going  many  days 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     231 

together  without  rest  or  food  except  by  snatches, 
and  with  the  speed  and  spring  of  a  tiger  in  ac 
tion  ;  a  man  not  embarrassed  by  any  scruples ; 
compact,  instant,  selfish,  prudent,  and  of  a  per 
ception  which  did  not  suffer  itself  to  be  baulked 
or  misled  by  any  pretences  of  others,  or  any 
superstition  or  any  heat  or  haste  of  his  own.1 
"  My  hand  of  iron,"  he  said,  "  was  not  at  the 
extremity  of  my  arm,  it  was  immediately  con 
nected  with  my  head."  He  respected  the  power 
of  nature  and  fortune,  and  ascribed  to  it  his  su 
periority,  instead  of  valuing  himself,  like  inferior 
men,  on  his  opinionativeness,  and  waging  war 
with  nature.  His  favorite  rhetoric  lay  in  allusion 
to  his  star;  and  he  pleased  himself,  as  well  as 
the  people,  when  he  styled  himself  the  "  Child 
of  Destiny." 2  "  They  charge  me,"  he  said, "  with 
the  commission  of  great  crimes  :  men  of  my 
stamp  do  not  commit  crimes.  Nothing  has  been 
more  simple  than  my  elevation,  't  is  in  vain  to 
ascribe  it  to  intrigue  or  crime ;  it  was  owing  to 
the  peculiarity  of  the  times  and  to  my  reputa 
tion  of  having  fought  well  against  the  enemies 
of  my  country.  I  have  always  marched  with  the 
opinion  of  great  masses  and  with  events.  Of 
what  use  then  would  crimes  be  to  me  ?  "  Again 
he  said,  speaking  of  his  son,  "  My  son  can  not 


232  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

replace  me ;  I  could  not  replace  myself.  I  am 
the  creature  of  circumstances." 

He  had  a  directness  of  action  never  before 
combined  with  so  much  comprehension.  He  is 
a  realist,  terrific  to  all  talkers  and  confused  truth- 
obscuring  persons.  He  sees  where  the  matter 
hinges,  throws  himself  on  the  precise  point  of 
resistance,  and  slights  all  other  considerations. 
He  is  strong  in  the  right  manner,  namely  by 
insight.  He  never  blundered  into  victory,  but 
won  his  battles  in  his  head  before  he  won  them 
on  the  field.  His  principal  means  are  in  himself. 
He  asks  counsel  of  no  other.  In  1796  he  writes 
to  the  Directory :  "  I  have  conducted  the  cam 
paign  without  consulting  any  one.  I  should  have 
done  no  good  if  I  had  been  under  the  necessity 
of  conforming  to  the  notions  of  another  person. 
I  have  gained  some  advantages  over  superior 
forces  and  when  totally  destitute  of  every  thing, 
because,  in  the  persuasion  that  your  confidence 
was  reposed  in  me,  my  actions  were  as  prompt 
as  my  thoughts." 

History  is  full,  down  to  this  day,  of  the  im 
becility  of  kings  and  governors.  They  are  a 
class  of  persons  much  to  be  pitied,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  should  do.  The  weavers  strike 
for  bread,  and  the  king  and  his  ministers,  know- 


NAPOLEON  ;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     233 

ing  not  what  to  do,  meet  them  with  bayonets. 
But  Napoleon  understood  his  business.  Here 
was  a  man  who  in  each  moment  and  emergency 
knew  what  to  do  next.  It  is  an  immense  com 
fort  and  refreshment  to  the  spirits,  not  only  of 
kings,  but  of  citizens.  Few  men  have  any  next ; 
they  live  from  hand  to  mouth,  without  plan, 
and  are  ever  at  the  end  of  their  line,  and  after 
each  action  wait  for  an  impulse  from  abroad. 
Napoleon  had  been  the  first  man  of  the  world, 
if  his  ends  had  been  purely  public.  As  he  is, 
he  inspires  confidence  and  vigor  by  the  extraor 
dinary  unity  of  his  action.  He  is  firm,  sure, 
self-denying,  self-postponing,  sacrificing  every 
thing,  —  money,  troops,  generals,  and  his  own 
safety  also,  to  his  aim  ;  not  misled,  like  common 
adventurers,  by  the  splendor  of  his  own  means. 
"  Incidents  ought  not  to  govern  policy,"  he 
said,  "  but  policy,  incidents."  "  To  be  hurried 
away  by  every  event  is  to  have  no  political  sys 
tem  at  all."  His  victories  were  only  so  many 
doors,  and  he  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of 
his  way  onward,  in  the  dazzle  and  uproar  of  the 
present  circumstance.  He  knew  what  to  do, 
and  he  flew  to  his  mark.  He  would  shorten  a 
straight  line  to  come  at  his  object.  Horrible 
anecdotes  may  no  doubt  be  collected  from  his 


234  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

history,  of  the  price  at  which  he  bought  his  suc 
cesses  ;  but  he  must  not  therefore  be  set  down 
as  cruel,  but  only  as  one  who  knew  no  impedi 
ment  to  his  will ;  not  bloodthirsty,  not  cruel, 

—  but  woe  to  what  thing  or  person  stood  in  his 
way !  Not  bloodthirsty,  but  not  sparing  of  blood, 

—  and  pitiless.    He  saw  only  the  object :  the 
obstacle  must  give  way.    "  Sire,  General  Clarke 
can  not  combine  with   General  Junot,  for  the 
dreadful  fire  of  the  Austrian  battery."  —  "Let 
him  carry  the  battery." — "Sire, every  regiment 
that  approaches  the  heavy  artillery  is  sacrificed : 
Sire,  what   orders?"  —  "Forward,    forward!" 
Seruzier,  a   colonel  of  artillery,  gives,    in    his 
"  Military  Memoirs,"  the  following  sketch  of  a 
scene  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz.  —  "  At  the 
moment  in  which  the  Russian  army  was  making 
its  retreat,  painfully,  but  in  good  order,  on  the 
ice  of  the  lake,  the  Emperor  Napoleon   came 
riding  at  full  speed  toward  the  artillery.    '  You 
are   losing  time,'    he   cried  ;  '  fire   upon   those 
masses ;  they  must  be  engulfed :  fire  upon  the 
ice  ! '    The  order  remained  unexecuted  for  ten 
minutes.    In  vain   several  officers  and   myself 
were  placed  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  to  produce  the 
effect :  their  balls  and  mine  rolled  upon  the  ice 
without  breaking  it  up.    Seeing  that,  I  tried  a 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     235 

simple  method  of  elevating  light  howitzers. 
The  almost  perpendicular  fall  of  the  heavy  pro 
jectiles  produced  the  desired  effect.  My  method 
was  immediately  followed  by  the  adjoining  bat 
teries,  and  in  less  than  no  time  we  buried  "  some 
"  thousands  of  Russians  and  Austrians  under 
the  waters  of  the  lake."  x 

In  the  plenitude  of  his  resources,  every  ob 
stacle  seemed  to  vanish.  "  There  shall  be  no 
Alps,"  lie  said  ;  and  he  built  his  perfect  roads, 
climbing  by  graded  galleries  their  steepest  pre 
cipices,  until  Italy  was  as  open  to  Paris  as  any 
town  in  France.  He  laid  his  bones  to,  and 
wrought  for  his  crown.  Having  decided  what 
was  to  be  done,  he  did  that  with  might  and  main. 
He  put  out  all  his  strength.  He  risked  every 
thing  and  spared  nothing,  neither  ammunition, 
nor  money,  nor  troops,  nor  generals,  nor  him 
self. 

We  like  to  see  every  thing  do  its  office  after 
its  kind,  whether  it  be  a  milch-cow  or  a  rattle 
snake  ;  and  if  fighting  be  the  best  mode  of  ad 
justing  national  differences,  (as  large  majorities 
of  men  seem  to  agree,)  certainly  Bonaparte  was 
right  in  making  it  thorough.  The  grand  prin 
ciple  of  war,  he  said,  was  that  an  army  ought 
always  to  be  ready,  by  day  and  by  night  and  at 


236  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

all  hours,  to  make  all  the  resistance  it  is  capable 
of  making.  He  never  economized  his  ammuni 
tion,  but,  on  a  hostile  position,  rained  a  torrent 
of  iron,  —  shells,  balls,  grape-shot,  —  to  annihi 
late  all  defence.  On  any  point  of  resistance  he 
concentrated  squadron  on  squadron  in  over 
whelming  numbers  until  it  was  swept  out  of 
existence.  To  a  regiment  of  horse-chasseurs  at 
Lobenstein,  two  days  before  the  battle  of  Jena, 
Napoleon  said,  "  My  lads,  you  must  not  fear 
death  ;  when  soldiers  brave  death,  they  drive 
him  into  the  enemy's  ranks."  In  the  fury  of 
assault,  he  no  more  spared  himself.  He  went  to 
the  edge  of  his  possibility.  It  is  plain  that  in 
Italy  he  did  what  he  could,  and  all  that  he  could. 
He  came,  several  times,  within  an  inch  of  ruin ; 
and  his  own  person  was  all  but  lost.  He  was 
flung  into  the  marsh  at  Arcola.  The  Austrians 
were  between  him  and  his  troops,  in  the  melee, 
and  he  was  brought  off  with  desperate  efforts. 
At  Lonato,  and  at  other  places,  he  was  on  the 
point  of  being  taken  prisoner.  He  fought  sixty 
battles.  He  had  never  enough.  Each  victory 
was  a  new  weapon.  "  My  power  would  fall, 
were  I  not  to  support  it  by  new  achievements. 
Conquest  has  made  me  what  I  am,  and  conquest 
must  maintain  me."  He  felt,  with  every  wise 


NAPOLEON ;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     237 

man,  that  as  much  life  is  needed  for  conserva 
tion  as  for  creation.  We  are  always  in  peril, 
always  in  a  bad  plight,  just  on  the  edge  of  de 
struction  and  only  to  be  saved  by  invention  and 
courage. 

This  vigor  was  guarded  and  tempered  by  the 
coldest  prudence  and  punctuality.  A  thunder 
bolt  in  the  attack,  he  was  found  invulnerable  in 
his  intrenchments.  His  very  attack  was  never 
the  inspiration  of  courage,  but  the  result  of  cal 
culation.  His  idea  of  the  best  defence  consists 
in  being  still  the  attacking  party.  "  My  ambi 
tion,"  he  says,  "  was  great,  but  was  of  a  cold 
nature."  In  one  of  his  conversations  with  Las 
Cases,  he  remarked,  "As  to  moral  courage,  I 
have  rarely  met  with  the  two-o'clock-in-the- 
morning  kind :  I  mean  unprepared  courage ; 
that  which  is  necessary  on  an  unexpected  occa 
sion,  and  which,  in  spite  of  the  most  unforeseen 
events,  leaves  full  freedom  of  judgment  and  de 
cision  :  "  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that 
he  was  himself  eminently  endowed  with  this 
two-o'clock-in-the-morning  courage,  and  that 
he  had  met  with  few  persons  equal  to  himself 
in  this  respect. 

Every  thing  depended  on  the  nicety  of  his 
combinations,  and  the  stars  were  not  more 


238  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

punctual  than  his  arithmetic.  His  personal 
attention  descended  to  the  smallest  particulars. 
"  At  Montebello,  I  ordered  Kellermann  to  at 
tack  with  eight  hundred  horse,  and  with  these 
he  separated  the  six  thousand  Hungarian  grena 
diers,  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  Austrian  cav 
alry.  This  cavalry  was  half  a  league  off  and 
required  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  arrive  on  the 
field  of  action,  and  I  have  observed  that  it  is 
always  these  quarters  of  an  hour  that  decide  the 
fate  of  a  battle."  "  Before  he  fought  a  battle, 
Bonaparte  thought  little  about  what  he  should 
do  in  case  of  success,  but  a  great  deal  about 
what  he  should  do  in  case  of  a  reverse  of  for 
tune."  The  same  prudence  and  good  sense 
mark  all  his  behavior.  His  instructions  to 
his  secretary  at  the  Tuileries  are  worth  remem 
bering.  "  During  the  night,  enter  my  chamber 
as  seldom  as  possible.  Do  not  awake  me  when 
you  have  any  good  news  to  communicate ;  with 
that  there  is  no  hurry.  But  when  you  bring 
bad  news,  rouse  me  instantly,  for  then  there  is 
not  a  moment  to  be  lost."  It  was  a  whimsical 
economy  of  the  same  kind  which  dictated  his 
practice,  when  general  in  Italy,  in  regard  to 
his  burdensome  correspondence.  He  directed 
Bourrienne  to  leave  all  letters  unopened  for 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     239 

three  weeks,  and  then  observed  with  satisfac 
tion  how  large  a  part  of  the  correspondence  had 
thus  disposed  of  itself  and  no  longer  required 
an  answer.  His  achievement  of  business  was 
immense,  and  enlarges  the  known  powers  of 
man.  There  have  been  many  working  kings, 
from  Ulysses  to  William  of  Orange,  but  none 
who  accomplished  a  tithe  of  this  man's  per 
formance. 

To  these  gifts  of  nature,  Napoleon  added  the 
advantage  of  having  been  born  to  a  private  and 
humble  fortune.  In  his  later  days  he  had  the 
weakness  of  wishing  to  add  to  his  crowns  and 
badges  the  prescription  of  aristocracy ;  but  he 
knew  his  debt  to  his  austere  education,  and 
made  no  secret  of  his  contempt  for  the  born 
kings,  and  for  "  the  hereditary  asses,"  as  he 
coarsely  styled  the  Bourbons.  He  said  that 
"  in  their  exile  they  had  learned  nothing,  and 
forgot  nothing."  Bonaparte  had  passed  through 
all  the  degrees  of  military  service,  but  also  was 
citizen  before  he  was  emperor,  and  so  has  the 
key  to  citizenship.  His  remarks  and  estimates 
discover  the  information  and  justness  of  mea 
surement  of  the  middle  class.  Those  who  had 
to  deal  with  him  found  that  he  was  not  to  be 
imposed  upon,  but  could  cipher  as  well  as  an- 


24o  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

other  man.  This  appears  in  all  parts  of  his 
Memoirs,  dictated  at  St.  Helena.  When  the 
expenses  of  the  empress,  of  his  household,  of 
his  palaces,  had  accumulated  great  debts,  Napo 
leon  examined  the  bills  of  the  creditors  himself, 
detected  overcharges  and  errors,  and  reduced 
the  claims  by  considerable  sums. 

His  grand  weapon,  namely  the  millions  whom 
he  directed,  he  owed  to  the  representative  char 
acter  which  clothed  him.  He  interests  us  as  he 
stands  for  France  and  for  Europe ;  and  he  ex 
ists  as  captain  and  king  only  as  far  as  the  Revo 
lution,  or  the  interest  of  the  industrious  masses, 
found  an  organ  and  a  leader  in  him.  In  the 
social  interests,  he  knew  the  meaning  and  value 
of  labor,  and  threw  himself  naturally  on  that 
side.  I  like  an  incident  mentioned  by  one  of 
his  biographers  at  St.  Helena.  "  When  walking 
with  Mrs.  Balcombe,  some  servants,  carrying 
heavy  boxes,  passed  by  on  the  road,  and  Mrs. 
Balcombe  desired  them,  in  rather  an  angry  tone, 
to  keep  back.  Napoleon  interfered,  saying  f  Re 
spect  the  burden,  Madam/"1  In  the  time  of 
the  empire  he  directed  attention  to  the  im 
provement  and  embellishment  of  the  markets 
of  the  capital.  "  The  market-place,"  he  said, 
"  is  the  Louvre  of  the  common  people."  The 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     241 

principal  works  that  have  survived  him  are  his 
magnificent  roads.  He  filled  the  troops  with  his 
spirit,  and  a  sort  of  freedom  and  companion 
ship  grew  up  between  him  and  them,  which  the 
forms  of  his  court  never  permitted  between  the 
ofHcers  and  himself.  They  performed,  under 
his  eye,  that  which  no  others  could  do.  The 
best  document  of  his  relation  to  his  troops  is  the 
order  of  the  day  on  the  morning  of  the  battle 
of  Austerlitz,  in  which  Napoleon  promises 
the  troops  that  he  will  keep  his  person  out  of 
reach  of  fire.  This  declaration,  which  is  the  re 
verse  of  that  ordinarily  made  by  generals  and 
sovereigns  on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  sufficiently 
explains  the  devotion  of  the  army  to  their 
leader. 

But  though  there  is  in  particulars  this  iden 
tity  between  Napoleon  and  the  mass  of  the 
people,  his  real  strength  lay  in  their  conviction 
that  he  was  their  representative  in  his  genius 
and  aims,  not  only  when  he  courted,  but  when 
he  controlled,  and  even  when  he  decimated  them 
by  his  conscriptions.  He  knew,  as  well  as  any 
Jacobin  in  France,  how  to  philosophize  on  lib 
erty  and  equality;  and  when  allusion  was  made 
to  the  precious  blood  of  centuries,  which  was 
spilled  by  the  killing  of  the  Due  d'Enghien, 

IV 


242  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

he  suggested,  "  Neither  is  my  blood  ditch- 
water."  The  people  felt  that  no  longer  the 
throne  was  occupied  and  the  land  sucked  of 
its  nourishment,  by  a  small  class  of  legitimates, 
secluded  from  all  community  with  the  children 
of  the  soil,  and  holding  the  ideas  and  supersti 
tions  of  a  long-forgotten  state  of  society.1  In 
stead  of  that  vampyre,  a  man  of  themselves 
held,  in  the  Tuileries,  knowledge  and  ideas  like 
their  own,  opening  of  course  to  them  and  their 
children  all  places  of  power  and  trust.  The 
day  of  sleepy,  selfish  policy,  ever  narrowing  the 
means  and  opportunities  of  young  men,  was 
ended,  and  a  day  of  expansion  and  demand 
was  come.  A  market  for  all  the  powers  and 
productions  of  man  was  opened  ;  brilliant  prizes 
glittered  in  the  eyes  of  youth  and  talent.  The 
old,  iron-bound,  feudal  France  was  changed  into 
a  young  Ohio  or  New  York ;  and  those  who 
smarted  under  the  immediate  rigors  of  the  new 
monarch,  pardoned  them  as  the  necessary  se 
verities  of  the  military  system  which  had  driven 
out  the  oppressor.  And  even  when  the  major 
ity  of  the  people  had  begun  to  ask  whether  they 
had  really  gained  any  thing  under  the  exhaust 
ing  levies  of  men  and  money  of  the  new  master, 
the  whole  talent  of  the  country,  in  every  rank 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD    243 

and  kindred,  took  his  part  and  defended  him 
as  its  natural  patron.  In  1814,  when  advised 
to  rely  on  the  higher  classes,  Napoleon  said  to 
those  around  him,  "  Gentlemen,  in  the  situ 
ation  in  which  I  stand,  my  only  nobility  is  the 
rabble  of  the  Faubourgs." 

Napoleon  met  this  natural  expectation.  The 
necessity  of  his  position  required  a  hospitality 
to  every  sort  of  talent,  and  its  appointment  to 
trusts ;  and  his  feeling  went  along  with  this 
policy.  Like  every  superior  person,  he  un 
doubtedly  felt  a  desire  for  men  and  compeers, 
and  a  wish  to  measure  his  power  with  other 
masters,  and  an  impatience  of  fools  and  under 
lings.  In  Italy,  he  sought  for  men  and  found 
none.  "  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  "  how  rare  men 
are  !  There  are  eighteen  millions  in  Italy,  and 
I  have  with  difficulty  found  two, —  Dandolo 
and  Melzi."  In  later  years,  with  larger  experi 
ence,  his  respect  for  mankind  was  not  increased. 
In  a  moment  of  bitterness  he  said  to  one  of  his 
oldest  friends,  "  Men  deserve  the  contempt  with 
which  they  inspire  me.  I  have  only  to  put  some 
gold-lace  on  the  coat  of  my  virtuous  republi 
cans  and  they  immediately  become  just  what  I 
wish  them."  This  impatience  at  levity  was> 
however,  an  oblique  tribute  of  respect  to  those 


24.4  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

able  persons  who  commanded  his  regard  not 
only  when  he  found  them  friends  and  coadju 
tors  but  also  when  they  resisted  his  will.  He 
could  not  confound  Fox  and  Pitt,  Carnot,  La 
fayette  and  Bernadotte,  with  the  danglers  of 
his  court ;  and  in  spite  of  the  detraction  which 
his  systematic  egotism  dictated  toward  the 
great  captains  who  conquered  with  and  for  him, 
ample  acknowledgments  are  made  by  him  to 
Lannes,  Duroc,  Kleber,  Dessaix,  Massena, 
Murat,  Ney  and  Augereau.  If  he  felt  himself 
their  patron  and  the  founder  of  their  fortunes, 
as  when  he  said  "  I  made  my  generals  out  of 
mud,"  —  he  could  not  hide  his  satisfaction  in 
receiving  from  them  a  seconding  and  support 
commensurate  with  the  grandeur  of  his  enter 
prise.  In  the  Russian  campaign  he  was  so  much 
impressed  by  the  courage  and  resources  of  Mar 
shal  Ney,  that  he  said,  "  I  have  two  hundred 
millions  in  my  coffers,  and  I  would  give  them 
all  for  Ney."  The  characters  which  he  has 
drawn  of  several  of  his  marshals  are  discrimi 
nating,  and  though  they  did  not  content  the 
insatiable  vanity  of  French  officers,  are  no  doubt 
substantially  just.  And  in  fact  every  species  of 
merit  was  sought  and  advanced  under  his  gov 
ernment.  "  I  know,"  he  said,  "  the  depth  and 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     245 

draught  of  water  of  every  one  of  my  generals." 
Natural  power  was  sure  to  be  well  received  at 
his  court.  Seventeen  men  in  his  time  were 
raised  from  common  soldiers  to  the  rank  of 
king,  marshal,  duke,  or  general ;  and  the  crosses 
of  his  Legion  of  Honor  were  given  to  personal 
valor,  and  not  to  family  connexion.  "  When  sol 
diers  have  been  baptized  in  the  fire  of  a  battle 
field,  they  have  all  one  rank  in  my  eyes." 

When  a  natural  king  becomes  a  titular  king, 
every  body  is  pleased  and  satisfied.  The  Revo 
lution  entitled  the  strong  populace  of  the  Fau 
bourg  St.  Antoine,  and  every  horse-boy  and 
powder-monkey  in  the  army,  to  look  on  Na 
poleon  as  flesh  of  his  flesh  and  the  creature  of 
his  party  :  but  there  is  something  in  the  success 
of  grand  talent  which  enlists  an  universal  sym 
pathy.  For  in  the  prevalence  of  sense  and  spirit 
over  stupidity  and  malversation,  all  reasonable 
men  have  an  interest ;  and  as  intellectual  beings 
we  feel  the  air  purified  by  the  electric  shock, 
when  material  force  is  overthrown  by  intellectual 
energies.  As  soon  as  we  are  removed  out  of  the 
reach  of  local  and  accidental  partialities,  Man 
feels  that  Napoleon  fights  for  him  ;  these  are 
honest  victories  ;  this  strong  steam-engine  does 
our  work.  Whatever  appeals  to  the  imagination, 


246  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

by  transcending  the  ordinary  limits  of  human 
ability,  wonderfully  encourages  and  liberates  us.1 
This  capacious  head,  revolving  and  disposing 
sovereignly  trains  of  affairs,  and  animating  such 
multitudes  of  agents ;  this  eye,  which  looked 
through  Europe ;  this  prompt  invention  ;  this 
inexhaustible  resource  :  —  what  events  !  what 
romantic  pictures  !  what  strange  situations  !  — 
when  spying  the  Alps,  by  a  sunset  in  the  Sicilian 
sea;  drawing  up  his  army  for  battle  in  sight  of 
the  Pyramids,  and  saying  to  his  troops,  "  From 
the  tops  of  those  pyramids,  forty  centuries  look 
down  on  you  ; "  fording  the  Red  Sea  ;  wading 
in  the  gulf  of  the  Isthmus  of  Suez.  On  the  shore 
of  Ptolemais,  gigantic  projects  agitated  him. 
"  Had  Acre  fallen,  I  should  have  changed  the 
face  of  the  world."  His  army,  on  the  night  of 
the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  which  was  the  anniver 
sary  of  his  inauguration  as  Emperor,  presented 
him  with  a  bouquet  of  forty  standards  taken  in 
the  fight.  Perhaps  it  is  a  little  puerile,  the  plea 
sure  he  took  in  making  these  contrasts  glaring  ; 
as  when  he  pleased  himself  with  making  kings 
wait  in  his  antechambers,  at  Tilsit,  at  Paris  and 
at  Erfurt. 

We  can  not,  in  the  universal  imbecility,  inde 
cision   and  indolence  of  men,  sufficiently  con- 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     247 

gratulate  ourselves  on  this  strong  and  ready 
actor,  who  took  occasion  by  the  beard,  and 
showed  us  how  much  may  be  accomplished  by 
the  mere  force  of  such  virtues  as  all  men  possess 
in  less  degrees ;  namely,  by  punctuality,  by 
personal  attention,  by  courage  and  thorough 
ness.  "  The  Austrians,"  he  said,  "  do  not  know 
the  value  of  time."  I  should  cite  him,  in  his 
earlier  years,  as  a  model  of  prudence.  His  power 
does  not  consist  in  any  wild  or  extravagant 
force ;  in  any  enthusiasm  like  Mahomet's,  or 
singular  power  of  persuasion  ;  but  in  the  exer 
cise  of  common-sense  on  each  emergency,  in 
stead  of  abiding  by  rules  and  customs.  The 
lesson  he  teaches  is  that  which  vigor  always 
teaches  ;  —  that  there  is  always  room  for  it.  To 
what  heaps  of  cowardly  doubts  is  not  that  man's 
life  an  answer.1  When  he  appeared  it  was  the 
belief  of  all  military  men  that  there  could  be 
nothing  new  in  war;  as  it  is  the  belief  of  men 
to-day  that  nothing  new  can  be  undertaken  in 
politics,  or  in  church,  or  in  letters,  or  in  trade, 
or  in  farming,  or  in  our  social  manners  and  cus 
toms  ;  and  as  it  is  at  all  times  the  belief  of  so 
ciety  that  the  world  is  used  up.  But  Bonaparte 
Knew  better  than  society  ;  and  moreover  knew 
that  he  knew  better.  I  think  all  men  know  better 


248  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

than  they  do  ;  know  that  the  institutions  we  so 
volubly  commend  are  go-carts  and  baubles  ;  but 
they  dare  not  trust  their  presentiments.  Bona 
parte  relied  on  his  own  sense,  and  did  not  care 
a  bean  for  other  people's.  The  world  treated  his 
novelties  just  as  it  treats  everybody's  novelties, 
—  made  infinite  objection,  mustered  all  the  im 
pediments  ;  but  he  snapped  his  finger  at  their 
objections.  "  What  creates  great  difficulty,"  he 
remarks,  "  in  the  profession  of  the  land-com 
mander,  is  the  necessity  of  feeding  so  many  men 
and  animals.  If  he  allows  himself  to  be  guided 
by  the  commissaries  he  will  never  stir,  and  all 
his  expeditions  will  fail."  An  example  of  his 
common-sense  is  what  he  says  of  the  passage  of 
the  Alps  in  winter,  which  all  writers,  one  re 
peating  after  the  other,  had  described  as  im 
practicable.  "The  winter,"  says  Napoleon,  "is 
not  the  most  unfavorable  season  for  the  passage 
of  lofty  mountains.  The  snow  is  then  firm,  the 
weather  settled,  and  there  is  nothing  to  fear  from 
avalanches,  the  real  and  only  danger  to  be  ap 
prehended  in  the  Alps.  On  these  high  moun 
tains  there  are  often  very  fine  days  in  December, 
of  a  dry  cold,  with  extreme  calmness  in  the  air." 
Read  his  account,  too,  of  the  way  in  which  battles 
are  gained.  "In  all  battles  a  moment  occurs 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     249 

when  the  bravest  troops,  after  having  made  the 
greatest  efforts,  feel  inclined  to  run.  That  terror 
proceeds  from  a  want  of  confidence  in  their  own 
courage,  and  it  only  requires  a  slight  oppor 
tunity,  a  pretence,  to  restore  confidence  to  them. 
The  art  is,  to  give  rise  to  the  opportunity  and 
to  invent  the  pretence.  At  Arcola  I  won  the 
battle  with  twenty-five  horsemen.  I  seized  that 
moment  of  lassitude,  gave  every  man  a  trum 
pet,  and  gained  the  day  with  this  handful.  You 
see  that  two  armies  are  two  bodies  which  meet 
and  endeavor  to  frighten  each  other  ;  a  moment 
of  panic  occurs,  and  that  moment  must  be  turned 
to  advantage.  When  a  man  has  been  present 
in  many  actions,  he  distinguishes  that  moment 
without  difficulty :  it  is  as  easy  as  casting  up 
an  addition." 

This  deputy  of  the  nineteenth  century  added 
to  his  gifts  a  capacity  for  speculation  on  general 
topics.  He  delighted  in  running  through  the 
range  of  practical,  of  literary  and  of  abstract 
questions.  His  opinion  is  always  original  and  to 
the  purpose.  On  the  voyage  to  Egypt  he  liked, 
after  dinner,  to  fix  on  three  or  four  persons  to 
support  a  proposition,  and  as  many  to  oppose 
it.  He  gave  a  subject,  and  the  discussions  turned 
on  questions  of  religion,  the  different  kinds  of 


250  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

government,  and  the  art  of  war.  One  day  he 
asked  whether  the  planets  were  inhabited?  On 
another,  what  was  the  age  of  the  world  ?  Then 
he  proposed  to  consider  the  probability  of  the 
destruction  of  the  globe,  either  by  water  or  by 
fire :  at  another  time,  the  truth  or  fallacy  of 
presentiments,  and  the  interpretation  of  dreams. 
He  was  very  fond  of  talking  of  religion.  In 
1806  he  conversed  with  Fournier,  bishop  of 
Montpellier,  on  matters  of  theology.  There 
were  two  points  on  which  they  could  not  agree, 
viz.  that  of  hell,  and  that  of  salvation  out  of  the 
pale  of  the  church.  The  Emperor  told  Jose 
phine  that  he  disputed  like  a  devil  on  these  two 
points,  on  which  the  bishop  was  inexorable.  To 
the  philosophers  he  readily  yielded  all  that  was 
proved  against  religion  as  the  work  of  men  and 
time,  but  he  would  not  hear  of  materialism. 
One  fine  night,  on  deck,  amid  a  clatter  of  ma 
terialism,  Bonaparte  pointed  to  the  stars,  and 
said,  "  You  may  talk  as  long  as  you  please,  gen 
tlemen,  but  who  made  all  that  ?  "  He  delighted 
in  the  conversation  of  men  of  science,  particularly 
of  Monge  and  Berthollet;  but  the  men  of  let 
ters  he  slighted ;  they  were  "  manufacturers  of 
phrases."  Of  medicine  too  he  was  fond  of  talk 
ing,  and  with  those  of  its  practitioners  whom  he 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     251 

most  esteemed,  —  with  Corvisart  at  Paris,  and 
with  Antonomarchi  at  St.  Helena.  "  Believe 
me,"  he  said  to  the  last,  "  we  had  better  leave 
off  all  these  remedies  :  life  is  a  fortress  which 
neither  you  nor  I  know  any  thing  about.  Why 
throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  defence  ?  Its 
own  means  are  superior  to  all  the  apparatus  of 
your  laboratories.1  Corvisart  candidly  agreed 
with  me  that  all  your  filthy  mixtures  are  good 
for  nothing.  Medicine  is  a  collection  of  uncer 
tain  prescriptions,  the  results  of  which,  taken 
collectively,  are  more  fatal  than  useful  to  man 
kind.  Water,  air  and  cleanliness  are  the  chief 
articles  in  my  pharmacopoeia." 

His  memoirs,  dictated  to  Count  Montholon 
and  General  Gourgaud  at  St.  Helena,  have  great 
value,  after  all  the  deduction  that  it  seems  is  to 
be  made  from  them  on  account  of  his  known 
disingenuousness.  He  has  the  good-nature  of 
strength  and  conscious  superiority.2  I  admire 
his  simple,  clear  narrative  of  his  battles  ;  —  good 
as  Caesar's ;  his  good-natured  and  sufficiently 
respectful  account  of  Marshal  Wurmser  and  his 
other  antagonists  ;  and  his  own  equality  as  a 
writer  to  his  varying  subject.  The  most  agree 
able  portion  is  the  Campaign  in  Egypt. 

He  had  hours  of  thought  and  wisdom.3    In 


252  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

intervals  of  leisure,  either  in  the  camp  or  the 
palace,  Napoleon  appears  as  a  man  of  genius 
directing  on  abstract  questions  the  native  appe 
tite  for  truth  and  the  impatience  of  words  he 
was  wont  to  show  in  war.  He  could  enjoy  every 
play  of  invention,  a  romance,  a  bon  mot,  as  well 
as  a  stratagem  in  a  campaign.  He  delighted  to 
fascinate  Josephine  and  her  ladies,  in  a  dim- 
lighted  apartment,  by  the  terrors  of  a  fiction  to 
which  his  voice  and  dramatic  power  lent  every 
addition. 

I  call  Napoleon  the  agent  or  attorney  of  the 
middle  class  of  modern  society  ;  of  the  throng 
who  fill  the  markets,  shops,  counting-houses, 
manufactories,  ships,  of  the  modern  world,  aim 
ing  to  be  rich.  He  was  the  agitator,  the  de 
stroyer  of  prescription,  the  internal  improver, 
the  liberal,  the  radical,  the  inventor  of  means, 
the  opener  of  doors  and  markets,  the  subverter 
of  monopoly  and  abuse.  Of  course  the  rich  and 
aristocratic  did  not  like  him.  England,  the 
centre  of  capital,  and  Rome  and  Austria,  centres 
of  tradition  and  genealogy,  opposed  him.  The 
consternation  of  the  dull  and  conservative  classes, 
the  terror  of  the  foolish  old  men  and  old  women 
of  the  Roman  conclave,  who  in  their  despair 
took  hold  of  any  thing,  and  would  cling  to  red- 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     253 

hot  iron,  —  the  vain  attempts  of  statists  to  amuse 
and  deceive  him,  of  the  emperor  of  Austria  to 
bribe  him  ;  and  the  instinct  of  the  young,  ardent 
and  active  men  every  where,  which  pointed  him 
out  as  the  giant  of  the  middle  class,  make  his 
history  bright  and  commanding.  He  had  the 
virtues  of  the  masses  of  his  constituents  :  he  had 
also  their  vices.  I  am  sorry  that  the  brilliant 
picture  has  its  reverse.  But  that  is  the  fatal 
quality  which  we  discover  in  our  pursuit  of 
wealth,  that  it  is  treacherous,  and  is  bought  by 
the  breaking  or  weakening  of  the  sentiments ; 
and  it  is  inevitable  that  we  should  find  the  same 
fact  in  the  history  of  this  champion,  who  pro 
posed  to  himself  simply  a  brilliant  career,  with 
out  any  stipulation  or  scruple  concerning  the 
means. 

Bonaparte  was  singularly  destitute  of  gener 
ous  sentiments.  The  highest-placed  individual 
in  the  most  cultivated  age  and  population  of 
the  world,  —  he  has  not  the  merit  of  common 
truth  and  honesty.  He  is  unjust  to  his  generals; 
egotistic  and  monopolizing  ;  meanly  stealing  the 
credit  of  their  great  actions  from  Kellermann, 
from  Bernadotte  ;  intriguing  to  involve  his  faith 
ful  Junot  in  hopeless  bankruptcy,  in  order  to 
drive  him  to  a  distance  from  Paris,  because  the 


254  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

familiarity  of  his  manners  offends  the  new  pride 
of  his  throne.  He  is  a  boundless  liar.  The 
official  paper,  his  "  Moniteur,"  and  all  his  bul 
letins,  are  proverbs  for  saying  what  he  wished 
to  be  believed  ;  and  worse,  —  he  sat,  in  his  pre 
mature  old  age,  in  his  lonely  island,  coldly  falsi 
fying  facts  and  dates  and  characters,  and  giving 
to  history  a  theatrical  eclat.  Like  all  Frenchmen 
he  has  a  passion  for  stage  effect.  Every  action 
that  breathes  of  generosity  is  poisoned  by  this 
calculation.  His  star,  his  love  of  glory,  his  doc 
trine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  are  all 
French.  "  I  must  dazzle  and  astonish.  If  I  were 
to  give  the  liberty  of  the  press,  my  power  could 
not  last  three  days."  To  make  a  great  noise  is 
his  favorite  design.  "  A  great  reputation  is  a 
great  noise  :  the  more  there  is  made,  the  farther 
off  it  is  heard.  Laws,  institutions,  monuments, 
nations,  all  fall ;  but  the  noise  continues,  and  re 
sounds  in  after  ages."  His  doctrine  of  immor 
tality  is  simply  fame.  His  theory  of  influence 
is  not  flattering.  "  There  are  two  levers  for  mov 
ing  men,  —  interest  and  fear.  Love  is  a  silly 
infatuation,  depend  upon  it.  Friendship  is  but 
a  name.  I  love  nobody.  I  do  not  even  love  my 
brothers  :  perhaps  Joseph  a  little,  from  habit, 
and  because  he  is  my  elder ;  and  Duroc,  I  love 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     255 

him  too  ;  but  why  ?  —  because  his  character 
pleases  me :  he  is  stern  and  resolute,  and  I  be 
lieve  the  fellow  never  shed  a  tear.  For  my  part 
I  know  very  well  that  I  have  no  true  friends. 
As  long  as  I  continue  to  be  what  I  am,  I  may 
have  as  many  pretended  friends  as  I  please. 
Leave  sensibility  to  women  ;  but  men  should 
be  firm  in  heart  and  purpose,  or  they  should 
have  nothing  to  do  with  war  and  government." 
He  was  thoroughly  unscrupulous.  He  would 
steal,  slander,  assassinate,  drown  and  poison,  as 
his  interest  dictated.  He  had  no  generosity,  but 
mere  vulgar  hatred  ;  he  was  intensely  selfish ; 
he  was  perfidious  ;  he  cheated  at  cards ;  he  was 
a  prodigious  gossip,  and  opened  letters,  and  de 
lighted  in  his  infamous  police,  and  rubbed  his 
hands  with  joy  when  he  had  intercepted  some 
morsel  of  intelligence  concerning  the  men  and 
women  about  him,  boasting  that  "  he  knew  every 
thing ; "  and  interfered  with  the  cutting  the 
dresses  of  the  women ;  and  listened  after  the 
hurrahs  and  the  compliments  of  the  street,  in 
cognito.  His  manners  were  coarse.  He  treated 
women  with  low  familiarity.  He  had  the  habit 
of  pulling  their  ears  and  pinching  their  cheeks 
when  he  was  in  good  humor,  and  of  pulling  the 
ears  and  whiskers  of  men,  and  of  striking  and 


256  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

horse-play  with  them,  to  his  last  days.  It  does 
not  appear  that  he  listened  at  key-holes,  or  at 
least  that  he  was  caught  at  it.  In  short,  when 
you  have  penetrated  through  all  the  circles  of 
power  and  splendor,  you  were  not  dealing  with 
a  gentleman,  at  last ;  but  with  an  impostor  and 
a  rogue ;  and  he  fully  deserves  the  epithet  of 
Jupiter  Scapin,  or  a  sort  of  Scamp  Jupiter.1 

In  describing  the  two  parties  into  which  mod 
ern  society  divides  itself,  —  the  democrat  and 
the  conservative, —  I  said,  Bonaparte  represents 
the  democrat,  or  the  party  of  men  of  business, 
against  the  stationary  or  conservative  party.  I 
omitted  then  to  say,  what  is  material  to  the 
statement,  namely  that  these  two  parties  differ 
only  as  young  and  old.  The  democrat  is  a 
young  conservative ;  the  conservative  is  an  old 
democrat.  The  aristocrat  is  the  democrat  ripe 
and  gone  to  seed  ;  —  because  both  parties  stand 
on  the  one  ground  of  the  supreme  value  of  pro 
perty,  which  one  endeavors  to  get,  and  the  other 
to  keep.  Bonaparte  may  be  said  to  represent 
the  whole  history  of  this  party,  its  youth  and 
its  age ;  yes,  and  with  poetic  justice  its  fate,  in 
his  own.  The  counter-revolution,  the  counter 
party,  still  waits  for  its  organ  and  representative, 


NAPOLEON;  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD     257 

in  a  lover  and  a  man  of  truly  public  and  uni 
versal  aims. 

Here  was  an  experiment,  under  the  most 
favorable  conditions,  of  the  powers  of  intellect 
without  conscience.1  Never  was  such  a  leader 
so  endowed  and  so  weaponed;  never  leader 
found  such  aids  and  followers.  And  what  was 
the  result  of  this  vast  talent  and  power,  of  these 
immense  armies,  burned  cities,  squandered  trea 
sures,  immolated  millions  of  men,  of  this  de 
moralized  Europe?  It  came  to  no  result.  All 
passed  away  like  the  smoke  of  his  artillery,  and 
left  no  trace.  He  left  France  smaller,  poorer, 
feebler,  than  he  found  it ;  and  the  whole  contest 
for  freedom  was  to  be  begun  again.2  The  at 
tempt  was  in  principle  suicidal.  France  served 
him  with  life  and  limb  and  estate,  as  long  as  it 
could  identify  its  interest  with  him  ;  but  when 
men  saw  that  after  victory  was  another  war ; 
after  the  destruction  of  armies,  new  conscrip 
tions  ;  and  they  who  had  toiled  so  desperately 
were  never  nearer  to  the  reward, —  they  could 
not  spend  what  they  had  earned,  nor  repose  on 
their  down-beds,  nor  strut  in  their  chateaux, — 
they  deserted  him.  Men  found  that  his  absorb 
ing  egotism  was  deadly  to  all  other  men.  It  re 
sembled  the  torpedo,  which  inflicts  a  succession 


258  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

of  shocks  on  any  one  who  takes  hold  of  it,  pro 
ducing  spasms  which  contract  the  muscles  of  the 
hand,  so  that  the  man  can  not  open  his  fingers  ; 
and  the  animal  inflicts  new  and  more  violent 
shocks,  until  he  paralyzes  and  kills  his  victim. 
So  this  exorbitant  egotist  narrowed,  impover 
ished  and  absorbed  the  power  and  existence  of 
those  who  served  him ;  and  the  universal  cry 
of  France  and  of  Europe  in  1814  was,  "  Enough 
of  him  ;  "  "  Assex  de  Bonaparte" 

It  was  not  Bonaparte's  fault.  He  did  all 
that  in  him  lay  to  live  and  thrive  without  moral 
principle.  It  was  the  nature  of  things,  the  eter 
nal  law  of  man  and  of  the  world  which  baulked 
and  ruined  him  ;  and  the  result,  in  a  million  ex 
periments,  will  be  the  same.  Every  experiment, 
by  multitudes  or  by  individuals,  that  has  a 
sensual  and  selfish  aim,  will  fail.  The  pacific 
Fourier  will  be  as  inefficient  as  the  pernicious 
Napoleon.  As  long  as  our  civilization  is  essen 
tially  one  of  property,  of  fences,  of  exclusive- 
ness,  it  will  be  mocked  by  delusions.  Our  riches 
will  leave  us  sick  ;  there  will  be  bitterness  in  our 
laughter,  and  our  wine  will  burn  our  mouth. 
Only  that  good  profits  which  we  can  taste  with 
all  doors  open,  and  which  serves  all  men. 


VII 
GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER 


GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER 

I  FIND  a  provision  in  the  constitution  of  the 
world  for  the  writer,  or  secretary,  who  is  to 
report  the  doings  of  the  miraculous  spirit  of  life 
that  everywhere  throbs  and  works.  His  office 
is  a  reception  of  the  facts  into  the  mind,  and 
then  a  selection  of  the  eminent  and  character 
istic  experiences. 

Nature  will  be  reported.  All  things  are  en 
gaged  in  writing  their  history.  The  planet,  the 
pebble,  goes  attended  by  its  shadow.  The  roll 
ing  rock  leaves  its  scratches  on  the  mountain  ; 
the  river  its  channel  in  the  soil ;  the  animal  its 
bones  in  the  stratum  ;  the  fern  and  leaf  their 
modest  epitaph  in  the  coal.  The  falling  drop 
makes  its  sculpture  in  the  sand  or  the  stone. 
Not  a  foot  steps  into  the  snow  or  along  the 
ground,  but  prints,  in  characters  more  or  less 
lasting,  a  map  of  its  march.  Every  act  of  the 
man  inscribes  itself  in  the  memories  of  his  fel 
lows  and  in  his  own  manners  and  face.  The  air 
is  full  of  sounds  ;  the  sky,  of  tokens  ;  the  round 
is  all  memoranda  and  signatures,  and  every  ob 
ject  covered  over  with  hints  which  speak  to  the 
intelligent. 


262  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

In  nature,  this  self-registration  is  incessant, 
and  the  narrative  is  the  print  of  the  seal.  It 
neither  exceeds  nor  comes  short  of  the  fact. 
But  nature  strives  upward ;  and,  in  man,  the 
report  is  something  more  than  print  of  the  seal. 
It  is  a  new  and  finer  form  of  the  original.  The 
record  is  alive,  as  that  which  it  recorded  is  alive. 
In  man,  the  memory  is  a  kind  of  looking-glass, 
which,  having  received  the  images  of  surround 
ing  objects,  is  touched  with  life,  and  disposes 
them  in  a  new  order.1  The  facts  do  not  lie  in 
it  inert ;  but  some  subside  and  others  shine ;  so 
that  we  soon  have  a  new  picture,  composed  of 
the  eminent  experiences.  The  man  cooperates. 
He  loves  to  communicate ;  and  that  which  is 
for  him  to  say  lies  as  a  load  on  his  heart  until 
it  is  delivered.  But,  besides  the  universal  joy 
of  conversation,  some  men  are  born  with  ex 
alted  powers  for  this  second  creation.  Men  are 
born  to  write.  The  gardener  saves  every  slip 
and  seed  and  peach-stone :  his  vocation  is  to  be 
a  planter  of  plants.  Not  less  does  the  writer 
attend  his  affair.  Whatever  he  beholds  or  ex 
periences,  comes  to  him  as  a  model  and  sits  for 
its  picture.  He  counts  it  all  nonsense  that  they 
say,  that  some  things  are  undescribable.  He 
believes  that  all  that  can  be  thought  can  be 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       263 

written,  first  or  last ;  and  he  would  report  the 
Holy  Ghost,  or  attempt  it.  Nothing  so  broad, 
so  subtle,  or  so  dear,  but  comes  therefore  com 
mended  to  his  pen,  and  he  will  write.  In  his 
eyes,  a  man  is  the  faculty  of  reporting,  and  the 
universe  is  the  possibility  of  being  reported.  In 
conversation,  in  calamity,  he  finds  new  mate 
rials  ;  as  our  German  poet  said,  "  Some  god 
gave  me  the  power  to  paint  what  I  suffer." 
He  draws  his  rents  from  rage  and  pain.  By 
acting  rashly,  he  buys  the  power  of  talking 
wisely.  Vexations  and  a  tempest  of  passion 
only  fill  his  sail ;  as  the  good  Luther  writes, 
"  When  I  am  angry,  I  can  pray  well  and  preach 
well :  "  and,  if  we  knew  the  genesis  of  fine 
strokes  of  eloquence,  they  might  recall  the  com 
plaisance  of  Sultan  Amurath,  who  struck  off 
some  Persian  heads,  that  his  physician,  Vesa- 
lius,  might  see  the  spasms  in  the  muscles  of  the 
neck.1  His  failures  are  the  preparation  of  his 
victories.  A  new  thought  or  a  crisis  of  passion 
apprises  him  that  all  that  he  has  yet  learned  and 
written  is  exoteric,  —  is  not  the  fact,  but  some 
rumor  of  the  fact.  What  then  ?  Does  he  throw 
away  the  pen  ?  No  ;  he  begins  again  to  describe 
in  the  new  light  which  has  shined  on  him, — 
if,  by  some  means,  he  may  yet  save  some  true 


264  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

word.  Nature  conspires.  Whatever  can  be 
thought  can  -be  spoken,  and  still  rises  for  utter 
ance,  though  to  rude  and  stammering  organs. 
If  they  can  not  compass  it,  it  waits  and  works, 
until  at  last  it  moulds  them  to  its  perfect  will 
and  is  articulated. 

This  striving  after  imitative  expression,  which 
one  meets  every  where,  is  significant  of  the  aim 
of  nature,  but  is  mere  stenography.  There  are 
higher  degrees,  and  nature  has  more  splendid 
endowments  for  those  whom  she  elects  to  a  su 
perior  office  ;  for  the  class  of  scholars  or  writers, 
who  see  connection  where  the  multitude  see 
fragments,  and  who  are  impelled  to  exhibit  the 
facts  in  order,  and  so  to  supply  the  axis  on 
which  the  frame  of  things  turns.  Nature  has 
dearly  at  heart  the  formation  of  the  speculative 
man,  or  scholar.  It  is  an  end  never  lost  sight 
of,  and  is  prepared  in  the  original  casting  of 
things.  He  is  no  permissive  or  accidental  ap 
pearance,  but  an  organic  agent,  one  of  the  es 
tates  of  the  realm,  provided  and  prepared  from 
of  old  and  from  everlasting,  in  the  knitting  and 
contexture  of  things.  Presentiments,  impulses, 
cheer  him.  There  is  a  certain  heat  in  the  breast 
which  attends  the  perception  of  a  primary  truth, 
which  is  the  shining  of  the  spiritual  sun  down 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       265 

into  the  shaft  of  the  mine.  Every  thought  which 
dawns  on  the  mine,  in  the  moment  of  its  emer 
gence  announces  its  own  rank,  —  whether  it  is 
some  whimsy,  or  whether  it  is  a  power. 

If  he  have  his  incitements,  there  is,  on  the 
other  side,  invitation  and  need  enough  of  his 
gift.  Society  has,  at  all  times,  the  same  want, 
namely  of  one  sane  man  with  adequate  powers 
of  expression  to  hold  up  each  object  of  mono 
mania  in  its  right  relations.  The  ambitious  and 
mercenary  bring  their  last  new  mumbo-jumbo, 
whether  tariff,  Texas,  railroad,  Romanism,  mes 
merism,  or  California ;  and,  by  detaching  the 
object  from  its  relations,  easily  succeed  in  mak 
ing  it  seen  in  a  glare ;  and  a  multitude  go  mad 
about  it,  and  they  are  not  to  be  reproved  or 
cured  by  the  opposite  multitude  who  are  kept 
from  this  particular  insanity  by  an  equal  frenzy 
on  another  crotchet.  But  let  one  man  have  the 
comprehensive  eye  that  can  replace  this  isolated 
prodigy  in  its  right  neighborhood  and  bearings, 
—  the  illusion  vanishes,  and  the  returning  rea 
son  of  the  community  thanks  the  reason  of  the- 
monitor.1 

The  scholar  is  the  man  of  the  ages,  but  he 
must  also  wish  with  other  men  to  stand  well 
with  his  contemporaries.  But  there  is  a  certain 


266  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

ridicule,  among  superficial  people,  thrown  on 
the  scholars  or  clerisy,  which  is  of  no  import 
unless  the  scholar  heed  it.  In  this  country,  the 
emphasis  of  conversation  and  of  public  opinion 
commends  the  practical  man  ;  and  the  solid  por 
tion  of  the  community  is  named  with  significant 
respect  in  every  circle.  Our  people  are  of  Bo 
naparte's  opinion  concerning  ideologists.  Ideas 
are  subversive  of  social  order  and  comfort,  and 
at  last  make  a  fool  of  the  possessor.  It  is  be 
lieved,  the  ordering  a  cargo  of  goods  from  New 
York  to  Smyrna,  or  the  running  up  and  down 
to  procure  a  company  of  subscribers  to  set 
a-going  five  or  ten  thousand  spindles,  or  the 
negotiations  of  a  caucus  and  the  practising  on 
the  prejudices  and  facility  of  country-people  to 
secure  their  votes  in  November,  —  is  practical 
and  commendable. 

If  I  were  to  compare  action  of  a  much  higher 
strain  with  a  life  of  contemplation,  I  should  not 
venture  to  pronounce  with  much  confidence  in 
favor  of  the  former.  Mankind  have  such  a  deep 
stake  in  inward  illumination,  that  there  is  much 
to  be  said  by  the  hermit  or  monk  in  defence  of 
his  life  of  thought  and  prayer.  A  certain  par 
tiality,  a  headiness  and  loss  of  balance,  is  the  tax 
which  all  action  must  pay.  Act,  if  you  like,  — 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER        267 

but  you  do  it  at  your  peril.  Men's  actions  are 
too  strong  for  them.  Show  me  a  man  who  has 
acted  and  who  has  not  been  the  victim  and  slave 
of  his  action.  What  they  have  done  commits  and 
enforces  them  to  do  the  same  again.  The  first 
act,  which  was  to  be  an  experiment,  becomes 
a  sacrament.  The  fiery  reformer  embodies  his 
aspiration  in  some  rite  or  covenant,  and  he  and 
his  friends  cleave  to  the  form  and  lose  the  aspi 
ration.  The  Quaker  has  established  Quaker 
ism,  the  Shaker  has  established  his  monastery 
and  his  dance ;  and  although  each  prates  of 
spirit,  there  is  no  spirit,  but  repetition,  which  is 
anti-spiritual.  But  where  are  his  new  things  of 
to-day  ?  In  actions  of  enthusiasm  this  drawback 
appears,  but  in  those  lower  activities,  which 
have  no  higher  aim  than  to  make  us  more  com 
fortable  and  more  cowardly  ;  in  actions  of  cun 
ning,  actions  that  steal  and  lie,  actions  that 
divorce  the  speculative  from  the  practical  faculty 
and  put  a  ban  on  reason  and  sentiment,  there  is 
nothing  else  but  drawback  and  negation.  The 
Hindoos  write  in  their  sacred  books,  "  Children 
only,  and  not  the  learned,  speak  of  the  specu 
lative  and  the  practical  faculties  as  two.  They 
are  but  one,  for  both  obtain  the  selfsame  end, 
and  the  place  which  is  gained  by  the  followers  of 


268  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

the  one  is  gained  by  the  followers  of  the  other. 
That  man  seeth,  who  seeth  that  the  speculative 
and  the  practical  doctrines  are  one."  For  great 
action  must  draw  on  the  spiritual  nature.  The 
measure  of  action  is  the  sentiment  from  which 
it  proceeds.  The  greatest  action  may  easily  be 
one  of  the  most  private  circumstance. 

This  disparagement  will  not  come  from  the 
leaders,  but  from  inferior  persons.  The  robust 
gentlemen  who  stand  at  the  head  of  the  practi 
cal  class,  share  the  ideas  of  the  time,  and  have 
too  much  sympathy  with  the  speculative  class. 
It  is  not  from  men  excellent  in  any  kind  that 
disparagement  of  any  other  is  to  be  looked  for. 
With  such,  Talleyrand's  question  is  ever  the 
main  one;  not,  is  he  rich  ?  is  he  committed?  is 
he  well-meaning  ?  has  he  this  or  that  faculty  ?  is 
he  of  the  movement  ?  is  he  of  the  establishment  ? 
—  but,  Is  he  anybody  ?  does  he  stand  for  some 
thing?  He  must  be  good  of  his  kind.  That  is 
all  that  Talleyrand,  all  that  State-street,  all  that 
the  common-sense  of  mankind  asks.  Be  real  and 
admirable,  not  as  we  know,  but  as  you  know. 
Able  men  do  not  care  in  what  kind  a  man  is  able, 
so  only  that  he  is  able.  A  master  likes  a  master, 
and  does  not  stipulate  whether  it  be  orator, 
artist,  craftsman,  or  king.1 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       269 

Society  has  really  no  graver  interest  than  the 
well-being  of  the  literary  class.  And  it  is  not 
to  be  denied  that  men  are  cordial  in  their  recog 
nition  and  welcome  of  intellectual  accomplish 
ments.  Still  the  writer  does  not  stand  with  us  on 
any  commanding  ground.  I  think  this  to  be  his 
own  fault.  A  pound  passes  for  a  pound.  There 
have  been  times  when  he  was  a  sacred  person  : 
he  wrote  Bibles,  the  first  hymns,  the  codes,  the 
epics,  tragic  songs,  Sibylline  verses,  Chaldean 
oracles,  Laconian  sentences,  inscribed  on  temple 
walls.  Every  word  was  true,  and  woke  the  na 
tions  to  new  life.  He  wrote  without  levity  and 
without  choice.  Every  word  was  carved  before 
his  eyes  into  the  earth  and  the  sky  ;  and  the  sun 
and  stars  were  only  letters  of  the  same  purport 
and  of  no  more  necessity.  But  how  can  he  be 
honored  when  he  does  not  honor  himself;  when 
he  loses  himself  in  a  crowd  ;  when  he  is  no  longer 
the  lawgiver,  but  the  sycophant,  ducking  to  the 
giddy  opinion  of  a  reckless  public ;  when  he 
must  sustain  with  shameless  advocacy  some  bad 
government,  or  must  bark,  all  the  year  round, 
in  opposition;  or  write  conventional  criticism, 
or  profligate  novels ,  or  at  any  rate  write  with 
out  thought,  and  without  recurrence  by  day  and 
by  night  to  the  sources  of  inspiration  ? 


270  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

Some  reply  to  these  questions  may  be  fur 
nished  by  looking  over  the  list  of  men  of  lit 
erary  genius  in  our  age.  Among  these  no  more 
instructive  name  occurs  than  that  of  Goethe  to 
represent  the  powers  and  duties  of  the  scholar 
or  writer.1 

I  described  Bonaparte  as  a  representative  of 
the  popular  external  life  and  aims  of  the  nine 
teenth  century.  Its  other  half,  its  poet,  is 
Goethe,  a  man  quite  domesticated  in  the  cen 
tury,  breathing  its  air,  enjoying  its  fruits,  im 
possible  at  any  earlier  time,  and  taking  away, 
by  his  colossal  parts,  the  reproach  of  weakness 
which  but  for  him  would  lie  on  the  intellectual 
works  of  the  period.2  He  appears  at  a  time 
when  a  general  culture  has  spread  itself  and 
has  smoothed  down  all  sharp  individual  traits  ; 
when,  in  the  absence  of  heroic  characters,  a 
social  comfort  and  cooperation  have  come  in. 
There  is  no  poet,  but  scores  of  poetic  writers ; 
no  Columbus,  but  hundreds  of  post-captains, 
with  transit-telescope,  barometer  and  concen 
trated  soup  and  pemmican ;  no  Demosthenes, 
no  Chatham,  but  any  number  of  clever  parlia 
mentary  and  forensic  debaters ;  no  prophet  or 
saint,  but  colleges  of  divinity;  no  learned  man, 
but  learned  societies,  a  cheap  press,  reading- 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       271 

rooms  and  book-clubs  without  number.  There 
was  never  such  a  miscellany  of  facts.  The  world 
extends  itself  like  American  trade.  We  conceive 
Greek  or  Roman  life,  life  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
to  be  a  simple  and  comprehensible  affair;  but 
modern  life  to  respect  a  multitude  of  things, 
which  is  distracting. 

Goethe  was  the  philosopher  of  this  multi 
plicity;  hundred-handed,  Argus-eyed,  able  and 
happy  to  cope  with  this  rolling  miscellany  of 
facts  and  sciences,  and  by  his  own  versatility  to 
dispose  of  them  with  ease  ;  a  manly  mind,  unem 
barrassed  by  the  variety  of  coats  of  convention 
with  which  life  had  got  encrusted,  easily  able 
by  his  subtlety  to  pierce  these  and  to  draw  his 
strength  from  nature,  with  which  he  lived  in 
full  communion.1  What  is  strange  too,  he  lived 
in  a  small  town,  in  a  petty  state,  in  a  defeated 
state,  and  in  a  time  when  Germany  played  no 
such  leading  part  in  the  world's  affairs  as  to  swell 
the  bosom  of  her  sons  with  any  metropolitan 
pride,  such  as  might  have  cheered  a  French, 
or  English,  or  once,  a  Roman  or  Attic  genius. 
Yet  there  is  no  trace  of  provincial  limitation  in 
his  muse.  He  is  not  a  debtor  to  his  position, 
but  was  born  with  a  free  and  controlling  genius. 

The  Helena,  or  the  second  part  of  Faust,  is  a 


272  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

philosophy  of  literature  set  in  poetry  ;  the  work, 
of  one  who  found  himself  the  master  of  histo 
ries,  mythologies,  philosophies,  sciences  and  na 
tional  literatures,  in  the  encyclopaedical  manner 
in  which  modern  erudition,  with  its  international 
intercourse  of  the  whole  earth's  population,  re 
searches  into  Indian,  Etruscan  and  all  Cyclopean 
arts ;  geology,  chemistry,  astronomy  ;  and  every 
one  of  these  kingdoms  assuming  a  certain  aerial 
and  poetic  character,  by  reason  of  the  multitude. 
One  looks  at  a  king  with  reverence ;  but  if  one 
should  chance  to  be  at  a  congress  of  kings,  the 
eye  would  take  liberties  with  the  peculiarities  of 
each.  These  are  not  wild  miraculous  songs,  but 
elaborate  forms  to  which  the  poet  has  confided 
the  results  of  eighty  years  of  observation.1  This 
reflective  and  critical  wisdom  makes  the  poem 
more  truly  the  flower  of  this  time.  It  dates  itself. 
Still  he  is  a  poet, —  poet  of  a  prouder  laurel 
than  any  contemporary,  and,  under  this  plague 
of  microscopes  (for  he  seems  to  see  out  of  every 
pore  of  his  skin),  strikes  the  harp  with  a  hero's 
strength  and  grace. 

The  wonder  of  the  book  is  its  superior  intel 
ligence.     In  the  menstruum  of  this  man's  wit, 

D  * 

the  past  and  the  present  ages,  and  their  re 
ligions,  politics  and  modes  of  thinking,  are  dis- 


GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER       273 

solved  into  archetypes  and  ideas.  What  new 
mythologies  sail  through  his  head  !  The  Greeks 
said  that  Alexander  went  as  far  as  Chaos;  Goethe 
went,  only  the  other  day,  as  far ;  and  one  step 
farther  he  hazarded,  and  brought  himself  safe 
back. 

There  is  a  heart-cheering  freedom  in  his 
speculation.  The  immense  horizon  which  jour 
neys  with  us  lends  its  majesty  to  trifles  and  to 
matters  of  convenience  and  necessity,  as  to  sol 
emn  and  festal  performances.  He  was  the  soul 
of  his  century.  If  that  was  learned,  and  had 
become,  by  population,  compact  organization 
and  drill  of  parts,  one  great  Exploring  Expe 
dition,  accumulating  a  glut  of  facts  and  fruits 
too  fast  for  any  hitherto-existing  savans  to  clas 
sify, —  this  man's  mind  had  ample  chambers 
for  the  distribution  of  all.  He  had  a  power  to 
unite  the  detached  atoms  again  by  their  own 
law.  He  has  clothed  our  modern  existence  with 
poetry.  Amid  littleness  and  detail,  he  detected 
the  Genius  of  life,  the  old  cunning  Proteus, 
nestling  close  beside  us,  and  showed  that  the 
dulness  and  prose  we  ascribe  to  the  age  was 
only  another  of  his  masks  :  — 

"  His  very  flight  is  presence  in  disguise  :  "  ' 
—  that  fie  had  put  ofF  a  gay  uniform  for  a  fa- 


274  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

tigue  dress,  and  was  not  a  whit  less  vivacious 
or  rich  in  Liverpool  or  the  Hague  than  once  in 
Rome  or  Antioch.  He  sought  him  in  public 
squares  and  main  streets,  in  boulevards  and 
hotels ;  and,  in  the  solidest  kingdom  of  routine 
and  the  senses,  he  showed  the  lurking  daemonic 
power ;  that,  in  actions  of  routine,  a  thread  of 
mythology  and  fable  spins  itself:  and  this,  by 
tracing  the  pedigree  of  every  usage  and  practice, 
every  institution,  utensil  and  means,  home  to 
its  origin  in  the  structure  of  man.1  He  had  an 
extreme  impatience  of  conjecture  and  of  rheto 
ric.  "  I  have  guesses  enough  of  my  own  ;  if  a 
man  write  a  book,  let  him  set  down  only  what 
he  knows."  He  writes  in  the  plainest  and  low 
est  tone,  omitting  a  great  deal  more  than  he 
writes,  and  putting  ever  a  thing  for  a  word. 
He  has  explained  the  distinction  between  the 
antique  and  the  modern  spirit  and  art.  He  has 
defined  art,  its  scope  and  laws.  He  has  said  the 
best  things  about  nature  that  ever  were  said.2 
He  treats  nature  as  the  old  philosophers,  as  the 
seven  wise  masters  did,  —  and,  with  whatever 
loss  of  French  tabulation  and  dissection,  poetry 
and  humanity  remain  to  us  ;  and  they  have  some 
doctoral  skill.  Eyes  are  better  on  the  whole 
than  telescopes  or  microscopes.  He  has  con- 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       275 

tributed  a  key  to  many  parts  of  nature,  through 
the  rare  turn  for  unity  and  simplicity  in  his 
mind.  Thus  Goethe  suggested  the  leading  idea 
of  modern  botany,  that  a  leaf  or  the  eye  of  a 
leaf  is  the  unit  of  botany,  and  that  every  part 
of  a  plant  is  only  a  transformed  leaf  to  meet  a 
new  condition ;  and,  by  varying  the  conditions, 
a  leaf  may  be  converted  into  any  other  organ, 
and  any  other  organ  into  a  leaf.  In  like  man 
ner,  in  osteology,  he  assumed  that  one  vertebra 
of  the  spine  might  be  considered  as  the  unit  of 
the  skeleton  :  the  head  was  only  the  uttermost 
vertebrae  transformed.  "  The  plant  goes  from 
knot  to  knot,  closing  at  last  with  the  flower  and 
the  seed.  So  the  tape-worm,  the  caterpillar,  goes 
from  knot  to  knot  and  closes  with  the  head. 
Man  and  the  higher  animals  are  built  up  through 
the  vertebrae,  the  powers  being  concentrated  in 
the  head."  In  optics  again  he  rejected  the  arti 
ficial  theory  of  seven  colors,  and  considered  that 
every  color  was  the  mixture  of  light  and  dark 
ness  in  new  proportions.  It  is  really  of  very 
little  consequence  what  topic  he  writes  upon. 
He  sees  at  every  pore,  and  has  a  certain  gravi 
tation  towards  truth.  He  will  realize  what  you 
say.  He  hates  to  be  trifled  with  and  to  be  made 
to  say  over  again  some  old  wife's  fable  that  has 


276  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

had  possession  of  men's  faith  these  thousand 
years.  He  may  as  well  see  if  it  is  true  as 
another.  He  sifts  it.  I  am  here,  he  would  say, 
to  be  the  measure  and  judge  of  these  things. 
Why  should  I  take  them  on. trust?  And  there 
fore  what  he  says  of  religion,  of  passion,  of  mar 
riage,  of  manners,  of  property,  of  paper-money, 
of  periods  of  belief,  of  omens,  of  luck,  or  what 
ever  else,  refuses  to  be  forgotten. 

Take  the  most  remarkable  example  that  could 
occur  of  this  tendency  to  verify  every  term  in 
popular  use.  The  Devil  had  played  an  impor 
tant  part  in  mythology  in  all  times.  Goethe  would 
have  no  word  that  does  not  cover  a  thing.  The 
same  measure  will  still  serve :  "  I  have  never 
heard  of  any  crime  which  I  might  not  have  com 
mitted."  So  he  flies  at  the  throat  of  this  imp. 
He  shall  be  real ;  he  shall  be  modern  ;  he  shall 
be  European ;  he  shall  dress  like  a  gentleman, 
and  accept  the  manners,  and  walk  in  the  streets, 
and  be  well  initiated  ia  the  life  of  Vienna  and 
of  Heidelberg  in  1820,  —  or  he  shall  not  exist. 
Accordingly,  he  stripped  him  of  mythologic 
gear,  of  horns,  cloven  foot,  harpoon  tail,  brim 
stone  and  blue-fire,  and  instead  of  looking  in 
books  and  pictures,  looked  for  him  in  his  own 
mind,  in  every  shade  of  coldness,  selfishness 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       277 

and  unbelief  that,  in  crowds  or  in  solitude, 
darkens  over  the  human  thought, —  and  found 
that  the  portrait  gained  reality  and  terror  by 
every  thing  he  added  and  by  every  thing  he  took 
away.  He  found  that  the  essence  of  this  hob 
goblin  which  had  hovered  in  shadow  about  the 
habitations  of  men  ever  since  there  were  men, 
was  pure  intellect,  applied,  —  as  always  there  is 
a  tendency,  —  to  the  service  of  the  senses  :  and 
he  flung  into  literature,  in  his  Mephistopheles, 
the  first  organic  figure  that  has  been  added  for 
some  ages,  and  which  will  remain  as  long  as  the 
Prometheus.1 

I  have  no  design  to  enter  into  any  analysis  of 
his  numerous  works.  They  consist  of  trans 
lations,  criticism,  dramas,  lyric  and  every  other 
description  of  poems,  literary  journals  and  por 
traits  of  distinguished  men.  Yet  I  cannot  omit 
to  specify  the  Wilhelm  Meister. 

Wilhelm  Meister  is  a  novel  in  every  sense, 
the  first  of  its  kind,  called  by  its  admirers  the 
only  delineation  of  modern  society,  —  as  if  other 
novels,  those  of  Scott  for  example,  dealt  with 
costume  and  condition,  this  with  the  spirit  of 
life.  It  is  a  book  over  which  some  veil  is  still 
drawn.  It  is  read  by  very  intelligent  persons 
with  wonder  and  delight.  It  is  preferred  by  some 


278  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

such  to  Hamlet,  as  a  work  of  genius.  I  suppose 
no  book  of  this  century  can  compare  with  it  in 
its  delicious  sweetness,  so  new,  so  provoking  to 
the  mind,  gratifying  it  with  so  many  and  so  solid 
thoughts,  just  insights  into  life  and  manners  and 
characters  ;  so  many  good  hints  for  the  conduct 
of  life,  so  many  unexpected  glimpses  into  a 
higher  sphere,  and  never  a  trace  of  rhetoric  or 
dulness.  A  very  provoking  book  to  the  curi 
osity  of  young  men  of  genius,  but  a  very  un 
satisfactory  one.  Lovers  of  light  reading,  those 
who  look  in  it  for  the  entertainment  they  find  in 
a  romance,  are  disappointed.  On  the  other  hand, 
those  who  begin  it  with  the  higher  hope  to  read 
in  it  a  worthy  history  of  genius,  and  the  just 
award  of  the  laurel  to  its  toils  and  denials,  have 
also  reason  to  complain.  We  had  an  English 
romance  here,  not  long  ago,  professing  to  em 
body  the  hope  of  a  new  age  and  to  unfold  the 
political  hope  of  the  party  called  c  Young  Eng 
land,'  —  in  which  the  only  reward  of  virtue  is  a 
seat  in  Parliament  and  a  peerage.  Goethe's  ro 
mance  has  a  conclusion  as  lame  and  immoral. 
George  Sand,  in  Consuelo  and  its  continuation, 
has  sketched  a  truer  and  more  dignified  picture. 
In  the  progress  of  the  story,  the  characters  of 
the  hero  and  heroine  expand  at  a  rate  that  shivers 


GOETHE;   OR,  THE  WRITER       279 

the  porcelain  chess-table  of  aristocratic  conven 
tion  :  they  quit  the  society  and  habits  of  their 
rank,  they  lose  their  wealth,  they  become  the 
servants  of  great  ideas  and  of  the  most  generous 
social  ends ;  until  at  last  the  hero,  who  is  the 
centre  and  fountain  of  an  association  for  the  ren 
dering  of  the  noblest  benefits  to  the  human  race, 
no  longer  answers  to  his  own  titled  name ;  it 
sounds  foreign  and  remote  in  his  ear.  "  I  am 
only  man,"  he  says  ;  "  I  breathe  and  work  for 
man  ;  "  and  this  in  poverty  and  extreme  sacri 
fices.1  Goethe's  hero,  on  the  contrary,  has  so 
many  weaknesses  and  impurities  and  keeps  such 
bad  company,  that  the  sober  English  public, 
when  the  book  was  translated,  were  disgusted. 
And  yet  it  is  so  crammed  with  wisdom,  with 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  with  knowledge  of 
laws;  the  persons  so  truly  and  subtly  drawn, 
and  with  such  few  strokes,  and  not  a  word  too 
much,  —  trie-book  remains  ever  so  new  and  un 
exhausted,  that  we  must  even  let  it  go  its  way 
and  be  willing  to  get  what  good  from  it  we  can, 
assured  that  it  has  only  begun  its  office  and  has 
millions  of  readers  yet  to  serve. 

The  argument  is  the  passage  of  a  democrat  to 
the  aristocracy,  using  both  words  in  their  best 
sense.  And  this  passage  is  not  made  in  any  mean 


280  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

or  creeping  way,  but  through  the  hall  door. 
Nature  and  character  assist,  and  the  rank  is  made 
real  by  sense  and  probity  in  the  nobles.  No 
generous  youth  can  escape  this  charm  of  reality 
in  the  book,  so  that  it  is  highly  stimulating  to 
intellect  and  courage.1 

The  ardent  and  holy  Novalis  characterized 
the  book  as  "  thoroughly  modern  and  prosaic ; 
the  romantic  is  completely  levelled  in  it ;  so  is 
the  poetry  of  nature  ;  the  wonderful.  The  book 
treats  only  of  the  ordinary  affairs  of  men  :  it  is 
a  poeticized  civic  and  domestic  story.  The  won 
derful  in  it  is  expressly  treated  as  fiction  and  en 
thusiastic  dreaming  :  "  —  and  yet,  what  is  also 
characteristic,  Novalis  soon  returned  to  this 
book,  and  it  remained  his  favorite  reading  to  the 
end  of  his  life. 

What  distinguishes  Goethe  for  French  and 
English  readers  is  a  property  which  he  shares 
with  his  nation,  —  a  habitual  reference  to  interior 
truth.  In  England  and  in  America  there  is  a 
respect  for  talent ;  and,  if  it  is  exerted  in  sup 
port  of  any  ascertained  or  intelligible  interest  or 
party,  or  in  regular  opposition  to  any,  the  pub 
lic  is  satisfied.  In  France  there  is  even  a  greater 
delight  in  intellectual  brilliancy  for  its  own  sake. 
And  in  all  these  countries,  men  of  talent  write 


GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER       281 

from  talent.  It  is  enough  if  the  understanding 
is  occupied,  the  taste  propitiated,  —  so  many 
columns,  so  many  hours,  filled  in  a  lively  and 
creditable  way.  The  German  intellect  wants  the 
French  sprightliness,  the  fine  practical  under 
standing  of  the  English,  and  the  American  ad 
venture  ;  but  it  has  a  certain  probity,  which 
never  rests  in  a  superficial  performance,  but  asks 
steadily,  To  what  end?  A  German  public  asks 
for  a  controlling  sincerity.  Here  is  activity  of 
thought ;  but  what  is  it  for  ?  What  does  the 
man  mean  ?  Whence,  whence  all  these  thoughts  ? l 
Talent  alone  can  not  make  a  writer.  There 
must  be  a  man  behind  the  book ;  a  personality 
which  by  birth  and  quality  is  pledged  to  the  doc 
trines  there  set  forth,  and  which  exists  to  see 
and  state  things  so,  and  not  otherwise ;  holding 
things  because  they  are  things.  If  he  can  not 
rightly  express  himself  to-day,  the  same  things 
subsist  and  will  open  themselves  to-morrow. 
There  lies  the  burden  on  his  mind,  —  the  burden 
of  truth  to  be  declared, — more  or  less  under 
stood  ;  and  it  constitutes  his  business  and  call 
ing  in  the  world  to  see  those  facts  through,  and 
to  make  them  known.  What  signifies  that  he 
trips  and  stammers;  that  his  voice  is  harsh  or 
hissing;  that  his  method  or  his  tropes  are  in- 


282  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

adequate  ?  That  message  will  find  method  and 
imagery,  articulation  and  melody.  Though  he 
were  dumb  it  would  speak.  If  not,  —  if  there 
be  no  such  God's  word  in  the  man,  —  what  care 
we  how  adroit,  how  fluent,  how  brilliant  he  is  ? 

It  makes  a  great  difference  to  the  force  of  any 
sentence  whether  there  be  a  man  behind  it  or 
no.  In  the  learned  journal,  in  the  influential 
newspaper,  I  discern  no  form  ;  only  some  irre 
sponsible  shadow  ;  oftener  some  moneyed  cor 
poration,  or  some  dangler  who  hopes,  in  the 
mask  and  robes  of  his  paragraph,  to  pass  for 
somebody.  But  through  every  clause  and  part 
of  speech  of  a  right  book  I  meet  the  eyes  of  the 
most  determined  of  men ;  his  force  and  terror 
inundate  every  word ;  the  commas  and  dashes 
are  alive ;  so  that  the  writing  is  athletic  and 
nimble,  —  can  go  far  and  live  long. 

In  England  and  America,  one  may  be  an  adept 
in  the  writings  of  a  Greek  or  Latin  poet,  with 
out  any  poetic  taste  or  fire.  That  a  man  has 
spent  years  on  Plato  and  Proclus,  does  not  af 
ford  a  presumption  that  he  holds  heroic  opinions, 
or  undervalues  the  fashions  of  his  town.1  But 
the  German  nation  have  the  most  ridiculous 
good  faith  on  these  subjects  :  the  student,  out 
of  the  lecture-room,  still  broods  on  the  lessons  ; 


GOETHE;  OR,  THE  WRITER        283 

and  the  professor  can  not  divest  himself  of  the 
fancy  that  the  truths  of  philosophy  have  some 
application  to  Berlin  and  Munich.  This  earnest 
ness  enables  them  to  outsee  men  of  much  more 
talent.  Hence  almost  all  the  valuable  distinc 
tions  which  are  current  in  higher  conversation 
have  been  derived  to  us  from  Germany.  But 
whilst  men  distinguished  for  wit  and  learning, 
in  England  and  France,  adopt  their  study  and 
their  side  with  a  certain  levity,  and  are  not 
understood  to  be  very  deeply  engaged,  from 
grounds  of  character,  to  the  topic  or  the  part 
they  espouse,  —  Goethe,  the  head  and  body  of 
the  German  nation,  does  not  speak  from  talent, 
but  the  truth  shines  through  :  he  is  very  wise, 
though  his  talent  often  veils  his  wisdom.  How 
ever  excellent  his  sentence  is,  he  has  somewhat 
better  in  view.  It  awakens  my  curiosity.  He 
has  the  formidable  independence  which  converse 
with  truth  gives :  hear  you,  or  forbear,  his  fact 
abides;  and  your  interest  in  the  writer  is  not 
confined  to  his  story  and  he  dismissed  from 
memory  when  he  has  performed  his  task  credit 
ably,  as  a  baker  when  he  has  left  his  loaf;  but 
his  work  is  the  least  part  of  him.  The  old  Eter 
nal  Genius  who  built  the  world  has  confided 
himself  more  to  this  man  than  to  any  other. 


284  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

I  dare  not  say  that  Goethe  ascended  to  the 
highest  grounds  from  which  genius  has  spoken. 
He  has  not  worshipped  the  highest  unity ;  he 
is  incapable  of  a  self-surrender  to  the  moral  senti 
ment.  There  are  nobler  strains  in  poetry  than 
any  he  has  sounded.  There  are  writers  poorer 
in  talent,  whose  tone  is  purer,  and  more  touches 
the  heart.  Goethe  can  never  be  dear  to  men. 
His  is  not  even  the  devotion  to  pure  truth  ; 
but  to  truth  for  the  sake  of  culture.  He  has  no 
aims  less  large  than  the  conquest  of  universal 
nature,  of  universal  truth,  to  be  his  portion :  a 
man  not  to  be  bribed,  nor  deceived,  nor  over 
awed  ;  of  a  stoical  self-command  and  self-denial, 
and  having  one  test  for  all  men,  —  What  can  you 
teach  me?  All  possessions  are  valued  by  him  for 
that  only  ;  rank,  privileges,  health,  time,  Being 
itself. 

He  is  the  type  of  culture,  the  amateur  of  all 
arts  and  sciences  and  events  ;  artistic,  but  not 
artist;  spiritual,  but  not  spiritualist.  There  is 
nothing  he  had  not  right  to  know :  there  is  no 
weapon  in  the  armory  of  universal  genius  he  did 
not  take  into  his  hand,  but  with  peremptory 
heed  that  he  should  not  be  for  a  moment  pre 
judiced  by  his  instruments.  He  lays  a  ray  of 
light  under  every  fact,  and  between  himself  and 


GOETHE  j  OR,  THE  WRITER       285 

his  dearest  property.  From  him  nothing  was 
hid,  nothing  withholden.  The  lurking  daemons 
sat  to  him,  and  the  saint  who  saw  the  daemons; 
and  the  metaphysical  elements  took  form. 
"  Piety  itself  is  no  aim,  but  only  a  means  whereby 
through  purest  inward  peace  we  may  attain  to 
highest  culture."  And  his  penetration  of  every 
secret  of  the  fine  arts  will  make  Goethe  still 
more  statuesque.  His  affections  help  him,  like 
women  employed  by  Cicero  to  worm  out  the 
secret  of  conspirators.  Enmities  he  has  none. 
Enemy  of  him  you  may  be,  —  if  so  you  shall 
teach  him  aught  which  your  good-will  can  not, 
were  it  only  what  experience  will  accrue  from 
your  ruin.  Enemy  and  welcome,  but  enemy  on 
high  terms.  He  can  not  hate  anybody  ;  his 
time  is  worth  too  much.  Temperamental  an 
tagonisms  may  be  suffered,  but  like  feuds  of 
emperors,  who  fight  dignifiedly  across  king 
doms.1 

His  autobiography,  under  the  title  of  Poe 
try  and  Truth  out  of  my  Life,  is  the  expres 
sion  of  the  idea  —  now  familiar  to  the  world 
through  the  German  mind,  but  a  novelty  to 
England,  Old  and  New,  when  that  book  ap 
peared —  that  a  man  exists  for  culture;  not  for 
what  he  can  accomplish,  but  for  what  can  be 


286  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

accomplished  in  him.  The  reaction  of  things  on 
the  man  is  the  only  noteworthy  result.  An  in 
tellectual  man  can  see  himself  as  a  third  person  ; 
therefore  his  faults  and  delusions  interest  him 
equally  with  his  successes.  Though  he  wishes 
to  prosper  in  affairs,  he  wishes  more  to  know 
the  history  and  destiny  of  man ;  whilst  the  clouds 
of  egotists  drifting  about  him  are  only  interested 
in  a  low  success. 

This  idea  reigns  in  the  Dichtung  und  Wahr- 
heit  and  directs  the  selection  of  the  incidents ; 
and  nowise  the  external  importance  of  events, 
the  rank  of  the  personages,  or  the  bulk  of  in 
comes.  Of  course  the  book  affords  slender 
materials  for  what  would  be  reckoned  with  us 
a  Life  of  Goethe  ;  —  few  dates,  no  correspond 
ence,  no  details  of  offices  or  employments,  no 
light  on  his  marriage  ;  and  a  period  of  ten  years, 
that  should  be  the  most  active  in  his  life, 
after  his  settlement  at  Weimar,  is  sunk  in  si 
lence.  Meantime  certain  love  affairs  that  came 
to  nothing,  as  people  say,  have  the  strangest 
importance  :  he  crowds  us  with  details  :  —  cer 
tain  whimsical  opinions,  cosmogonies  and  re 
ligions  of  his  own  invention,  and  especially  his 
relations  to  remarkable  minds  and  to  critical 
epochs  of  thought:  —  these  he  magnifies.  His 


GOETHE ;  OR,  THE  WRITER       287 

Daily  and  Yearly  Journal,  his  Italian  Travels, 
his  Campaign  in  France  and  the  historical  part 
of  his  Theory  of  Colors,  have  the  same  interest. 
In  the  last,  he  rapidly  notices  Kepler,  Roger 
Bacon,  Galileo,  Newton,  Voltaire,  etc. ;  and  the 
charm  of  this  portion  of  the  book  consists  in 
the  simplest  statement  of  the  relation  betwixt 
these  grandees  of  European  scientific  history 
and  himself;  the  mere  drawing  of  the  lines 
from  Goethe  to  Kepler,  from  Goethe  to  Bacon, 
from  Goethe  to  Newton.  The  drawing  of  the 
line  is,  for  the  time  and  person,  a  solution  of 
the  formidable  problem,  and  gives  pleasure 
when  Iphigenia  and  Faust  do  not,  without  any 
cost  of  invention  comparable  to  that  of  Iphi 
genia  and  Faust. 

This  lawgiver  of  art  is  not  an  artist.  Was 
it  that  he  knew  too  much,  that  his  sight  was 
microscopic  and  interfered  with  the  just  per 
spective,  the  seeing  of  the  whole  ?  He  is  frag 
mentary  ;  a  writer  of  occasional  poems  and  of 
an  encyclopaedia  of  sentences.  When  he  sits 
down  to  write  a  drama  or  a  tale,  he  collects  and 
sorts  his  observations  from  a  hundred  sides, 
and  combines  them  into  the  body  as  fitly  as  he 
can.  A  great  deal  refuses  to  incorporate :  this 
he  adds  loosely  as  letters  of  the  parties,  leaves 


288  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

from  their  journals,  or  the  like.  A  great  deal 
still  is  left  that  will  not  find  any  place.  This  the 
bookbinder  alone  can  give  any  cohesion  to  ;  and 
hence,  notwithstanding  the  looseness  of  many 
of  his  works,  we  have  volumes  of  detached  para 
graphs,  aphorisms,  Xenien,1  etc. 

I  suppose  the  worldly  tone  of  his  tales  grew 
out  of  the  calculations  of  self-culture.  It  was 
the  infirmity  of  an  admirable  scholar,  who  loved 
the  world  out  of  gratitude ;  who  knew  where 
libraries,  galleries,  architecture,  laboratories, 
savans  and  leisure  were  to  be  had,  and  who 
did  not  quite  trust  the  compensations  of  poverty 
and  nakedness.  Socrates  loved  Athens ;  Mon 
taigne,  Paris;  and  Madame  de  Stael  said  she 
was  only  vulnerable  on  that  side  (namely,  of 
Paris).  It  has  its  favorable  aspect.  All  the  gen 
iuses  are  usually  so  ill-assorted  and  sickly  that 
one  is  ever  wishing  them  somewhere  else.  We 
seldom  see  anybody  who  is  not  uneasy  or  afraid 
to  live.  There  is  a  slight  blush  of  shame  on  the 
cheek  of  good  men  and  aspiring  men,  and  a 
spice  of  caricature.  But  this  man  was  entirely 
at  home  and  happy  in  his  century  and  the  world. 
None  was  so  fit  to  live,  or  more  heartily  enjoyed 
the  game.  In  this  aim  of  culture,  which  is  the 
genius  of  his  works,  is  their  power.  The  idea 


GOETHE  ;  OR,  THE  WRITER       289 

of  absolute,  eternal  truth,  without  reference  to 
my  own  enlargement  by  it,  is  higher.  The  sur 
render  to  the  torrent  of  poetic  inspiration  is 
higher ;  but  compared  with  any  motives  on 
which  books  are  written  in  England  and  Amer 
ica,  this  is  very  truth,  and  has  the  power  to 
inspire  which  belongs  to  truth.  Thus  has  he 
brought  back  to  a  book  some  of  its  ancient 
might  and  dignity. 

Goethe,  coming  into  an  over-civilized  time 
and  country,  when  original  talent  was  oppressed 
under  the  load  of  books  and  mechanical  auxilia 
ries  and  the  distracting  variety  of  claims,  taught 
men  how  to  dispose  of  this  mountainous  mis 
cellany  and  make  it  subservient.  I  join  Napo 
leon  with  him,  as  being  both  representatives  of 
the  impatience  and  reaction  of  nature  against 
the  morgue  of  conventions,  —  two  stern  realists, 
who,  with  their  scholars,  have  severally  set  the 
axe  at  the  root  of  the  tree  of  cant  and  seeming, 
for  this  time  and  for  all  time.  This  cheerful 
laborer,  with  no  external  popularity  or  provo 
cation,  drawing  his  motive  and  his  plan  from 
his  own  breast,  tasked  himself  with  stints  for  a 
giant,  and  without  relaxation  or  rest,  except  by 
alternating  his  pursuits,  worked  on  for  eighty 
years  with  the  steadiness  of  his  first  zeal. 

IV 


290  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN 

It  is  the  last  lesson  of  modern  science  that 
the  highest  simplicity  of  structure  is  produced, 
not  by  few  elements,  but  by  the  highest  com 
plexity.  Man  is  the  most  composite  of  all  crea 
tures  ;  the  wheel-insect,  vofoox  globator,  is  at  the 
other  extreme.  We  shall  learn  to  draw  rents 
and  revenues  from  the  immense  patrimony  of 
the  old  and  the  recent  ages.  Goethe  teaches 
courage,  and  the  equivalence  of  all  times ;  that 
the  disadvantages  of  any  epoch  exist  only  to  the 
faint-hearted.  Genius  hovers  with  his  sunshine 
and  music  close  by  the  darkest  and  deafest  eras. 
No  mortgage,  no  attainder,  will  hold  on  men 
or  hours.  The  world  is  young  :  the  former 
great  men  call  to  us  affectionately.  We  too 
must  write  Bibles,  to  unite  again  the  heavens 
and  the  earthly  world.  The  secret  of  genius  is 
to  suffer  no  fiction  to  exist  for  us ;  to  realize  all 
that  we  know  ;  in  the  high  refinement  of  modern 
life,  in  arts,  in  sciences,  in  books,  in  men,  to 
exact  good  faith,  reality  and  a  purpose ;  and 
first,  last,  midst  and  without  end,  to  honor 
every  truth  by  use.1 


NOTES 


NOTES 

REPRESENTATIVE   MEN 

MR.  EMERSON  eagerly  sought  anecdote  or  evidence 
which  made  good  the  oracles  of  the  inspired  minds. 
Not  only  in  boyhood,  when  such  enthusiasm  is  natural,  he 
took  keen  pleasure  in  brave  achievement,  whether  in  the  closet 
or  the  field:  all  through  life  he  held  to  his  faith  in  the  Individ 
ual  rather  than  the  Organization.  It  was  largely  from  him  that 
ihe  young  Charles  Russell  Lowell  learned  his  faith,  later  acted 
up  to  on  the  battlefield,  that  "  the  world  advances  by  impos 
sibilities  achieved." 

The  astounding  passage  of  the  Alps  by  the  First  Consul 
with  his  army  would  have  been  among  the  first  stories  of 
the  great  world  that  reached  Emerson's  ears  as  a  boy,  and  later 
the  fame  of  the  Emperor's  rapid  marches  across  Europe  and 
repeated  overthrow  of  the  armies  of  the  banded  monarchs  of 
Feudalism,  compelling  them  to  treat  for  peace  at  the  very 
gates  of  their  capitals.  Mr.  Emerson  used  to  say,  "  I  like  peo 
ple  who  can  do  things."  No  wonder  that  Napoleon  was 
chosen  as  one  type  of  the  great  man  in  this  book.  But  the 
moral  element  was  lacking,  and  the  sudden  reverse  of  the 
scale  — 

"  When  one  that  sought  but  Duty's  iron  crown 
On  that  loud  Sabbath  shook  the  Spoiler  down ' '  — 

made  the  lesson  complete  ;  showed  the  sure  working  of  the 
great  Law. 

There  is  no  need  of  seeking  when  the  young  Emerson  made 
a  friend  of  Shakspeare.  In  those  serious  New  England  days 


294  NOTES 

when  there  were  no  exciting  athletics,  and  out-of-door  play 
was  a  diversion  after  duties  were  done,  and  when  in  every 
well-ordered  home  the  rule  prevailed,  "Little  folks  should  be 
seen  and  not  heard,"  children  naturally  sought  for  what  com 
fort  books  allowed,  and  sometimes,  opening  a  cover,  found  it 
a  gate  to  fairy-land.  For  happily  /:  Midsummer  Night*  s  Dream 
and  Macbeth  were  on  the  shelf  wi:h  Mason  On  Self-knowledge. 

But  before  the  elders  had  ceased  to  talk  of  the  flood  and  the 
ebb  in  the  fortune  of  Napoleons  then  a  captive  at  St.  Helena, 
the  boy,  now  in  college  and  eagerly  reading  in  the  library,  to 
the  detriment  of  algebra,  perhaps  while  studying  for  his  Bow- 
doin  prize  dissertations '  came  upon  The  True  Intellectual 
System  of  the  Universe  by  Ralph  Cudvvorth  (1678).  In  the 
review  there  given  of  the  systems  of  ancient  speculation,  in 
order  to  show  that  belief  in  one  sovereign  God  underlay  the 
polytheism  of  the  Pagan  nations,  it  is  probable  that  Mr.  Emer 
son  acquired  his  first  knowledge  of  Plato's  writings.  In  his 
journal  for  1845  he  wrote  thus  of  an  experience  just  after 
leaving  college  :  "  Men  read  so  differently  with  purpose  so 
unlike.  I  had  read  in  Cudworth  from  time  to  time  for  years, 
and  one  day  talked  of  him  with  Charles  W.  Upham,  my 
classmate,  and  found  him  acquainted  with  Cudworth' s  ar 
gument  and  theology,  and  quite  heedless  of  all  I  read  him 
for,  —  namely,  his  citations  from  Plato  and  the  philosophers, 
so  that,  if  I  had  not  from  my  youth  loved  the  man,  I  suppose 
we  might  have  '  inter-despised,'  as  De  Quincey  said  of  Words 
worth,  and  (perhaps)  Mackintosh." 

It  appears  from  the  journals  that  while  living  in  Canterbury 
(Roxbury)  in  1825,  the  young  Emerson,  flying  from  the 

i  "  On  the  Character  of  Socrates  "  (1820)  and  "  On  the  Present  Stat* 
of  Ethical  Philosophy"  (1821).  These  are  printed  in  Rev.  Dr.  E.  E, 
Hale's  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  Boston:  Brown  &  Co.,  1899. 


NOTES  295 

daily  terrors  of  his  school  for  young  ladies  in  Boston,  was  seek 
ing  for  some  bit  of  spiritual  refreshment  in  the  remains  of  his 
father's  library.  Among  the  books  of  desiccated  sermons  and 
the  commentaries  on  the  Scriptures  he  came  upon  an  odd  vol 
ume  of  Cotton's  translation  of  Montaigne  which  proved  a  friend 
indeed.  In  the  lecture  on  Montaigne  in  this  volume  he  relates 
this  experience,  but  in  the  journal  for  1873  he  adds,  "No 
book  before  or  since  was  ever  so  much  to  me  as  that." 

In  the  fourth  year  after  leaving  college,  when  he  had  left 
the  desk  of  the  schoolmaster  for  his  study  at  Divinity  Hall, 
Emerson  read  a  little  book  newly  published  in  Boston,  The 
Growth  of  the  Mind,  by  Sampson  Reed,  which  first  attracted 
his  attention  to  Swedenborg.  Its  author,  a  quiet  druggist  in 
Boston,  and  a  member  of  the  Swedenborgian  Church,  had 
graduated  at  Harvard  at  the  end  of  Emerson's  Freshman  year. 
Some  early  verses,  never  finished,  entitled  only  S.  R.,  seemed 
to  show  that  even  then  something  in  Sampson  Reed  had  at 
tracted  him.  They  begin,  — 

Demure  apothecary, 

Whose  early  reverend  genius  my  young  eye 
With  wonder  followed  and  undoubting  joy, 
Believing  in  that  cold  and  modest  form 
Brooded  alway  the  everlasting  mind, 
And  that  thou,  faithful,  didst  obey  the  soul. 

This  book  made  Mr.  Emerson  a  reader  of  Swedenborg, 
even  in  his  days  of  study  for  the  ministry. 

To  the  writings  of  Goethe  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  he 
was  first  introduced  by  Coleridge.  In  his  «'  Blotting  Book," 
in  which  he  noted  and  copied  passages  which  pleased  him  in 
his  reading,  in  the  autumn  of  1830  are  several  from  Wilhelm 
Meister  and  other  writings  of  Goethe,  as  well  as  from  the 


296  NOTES 

Life  of  Goethe.  It  was  certainly  Carlyle's  love  of  German 
and  of  Goethe  that  set  Emerson  to  the  task  of  learning  the 
language  and  reading  the  Master  in  the  original  tongue.  In  the 
early  letters  that  passed  between  the  friends  Goethe  is  discussed, 
Mr.  Emerson  never  being  able  to  share  to  the  full  in  his  friend's 
value  for  Goethe.  But  it  is  certain  that  for  the  love  of  his 
friend  he  struggled  through  nearly  all  of  the  fifty-five  volumes 
of  a  pocket  edition  of  the  works  in  German,  though  he  never 
really  mastered  the  difficulties  of  the  language. 

In  a  letter  to  Carlyle  on  June  29,  1845,  after  confessing 
to  this  "  gigantic  anti-poet,"  '  as  John  Sterling  called  him, 
his  own  recent  resolve  to  publish  a  volume  of  poems,  and 
excusing  his  friend  in  advance  from  reading  a  word  of  them, 
he  adds  :  "  Meantime  I  think  to  set  a  few  heads  before  me 
as  good  texts  for  winter  evening  entertainments.  I  wrote  a 
deal  about  Napoleon  a  few  months  ago  after  reading  a  library 
of  memoirs.  Now  I  have  Plato,  Montaigne  and  Swedenborg, 
and  more  in  the  clouds  behind. ' '  a 

Again,  September  i  5,  in  the  same  year  he  writes,  "  I  am  to 
read  to  a  society  in  Boston  presently  some  lectures,  —  on  Plato, 
or  the  Philosopher  ;  Swedenborg,  or  the  Mystic  ;  Montaigne, 
or  the  Skeptic  ;  Shakspeare,  or  the  Poet  ;  Napoleon,  or  the 
Man  of  the  World  ;  —  if  I  dare,  and  much  lecturing  makes 
us  incorrigibly  rash.  Perhaps,  before  I  end  it,  my  list  will 
be  longer,  and  the  measure  of  presumption  overflowed.  I 
may  take  names  less  reverend  than  some  of  these,  —  but  six 
lectures  I  have  promised.  I  find  this  obligation  usually  a  good 

i  A  Correspondence  between  jfoAn  Sterling  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson^ 
Boston:  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  1897. 

a  The  Correspondence  of  Thomas  Carlyle  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
Supplementary  Letters.  Boston:  Ticknor  &  Co.,  1886. 


NOTES  297 

spur  to  the  sides  of  that  dull  horse  I  have  charge  of.  But  many 
of  its  advantages  must  be  regarded  at  a  long  distance. ' '  The 
course  of  seven  lectures  was  first  given  before  the  Boston 
Lyceum  in  the  Odeon  in  the  winter  of  1845-46. 

When  in  response  to  the  urgent  invitation  of  several  friends, 
Mr.  Emerson,  in  the  late  autumn  of  1847,  crossed  the  ocean 
to  lecture  in  England,  his  first  course  after  landing,  given  be 
fore  the  Manchester  Athenaeum,  was  that  on  ' '  Representative 
Men."  The  lectures  on  Napoleon  and  on  Shakspeare  were 
later  given  in  Exeter  Hall  in  London. 

The  record  of  the  impression  made  on  one  of  his  hearers 
by  this  American  lecturer  at  his  first  appearance  before  Eng 
lish  audiences  may  be  interesting.  It  is  from  the  Memoir  by 
the  late  Mr.  Alexander  Ireland  of  Manchester.  * 

"  The  first  impression  one  had  in  listening  to  him  in  public 
was  that  his  manner  was  so  singularly  quiet  and  unimpassioned 
that  you  began  to  fear  the  beauty  and  force  of  his  thoughts 
were  about  to  be  marred  by  what  might  almost  be  described 
as  monotony  of  expression.  But  very  soon  was  this  appre 
hension  dispelled.  The  mingled  dignity,  sweetness  and  strength 
of  his  features,  the  earnestness  of  his  manner  and  voice,  and  the 
evident  depth  and  sincerity  of  his  convictions  gradually  ex 
torted  your  deepest  attention  and  made  you  feel  that  you  were 
within  the  grip  of  no  ordinary  man,  but  of  one  '  sprung  of 
Earth's  first  blood'  with  '  titles  manifold; '  and  as  he  went 
on  with  serene  self-possession  and  an  air  of  conscious  power 
reading  sentence  after  sentence,  charged  with  well-weighed 
meaning  and  set  in  words  of  faultless  aptitude,  you  could  no 
longer  withstand  his  'so  potent  spell,'  but  were  forthwith 
compelled  to  surrender  yourself  to  the  fascination  of  his  elo- 

i  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  his  Life,  Genius  and  Writings.  London: 
Simpkin,  Marshall  &  Co.  1882. 


298  NOTES 

quence.  He  used  little  or  no  action.  .  .  .  Perhaps  no  orator 
ever  succeeded  with  so  little  exertion  in  entrancing  his  audi 
ence,  stealing  away  each  faculty,  and  leading  the  listeners 
captive  to  his  will.  He  abjured  all  force  and  excitement  — 
dispensing  his  regal  sentences  in  all  mildness,  goodness  and 
truth,  but  stealthily  and  surely  he  grew  upon  you  from  the 
smallest  proportions,  as  it  were;  steadily  increasing,  until  he 
became  a  Titan.  .  .  .  The  moment  he  finished  he  took 
up  his  MS.  and  quietly  glided  away, — disappearing  before 
his  audience  could  give  vent  to  their  applause." 

Representative  Men  was  published  January  i,  1850.  A 
copy  was  sent  to  Carlyle,  who,  "a  remorseful  man,"  ac 
knowledged  it  in  an  affectionate  letter  written  July  19,  1850, 
telling,  however,  that  his  own  life  had  been  meanwhile  "  black 
with  care  and  toil."  In  it  he  said  :  "  Chapman,  with  due 
punctuality  at  the  time  of  publication,  sent  me  the  Represent 
ative  Men  ;  which  I  read  in  the  becoming  manner:  you  now 
get  the  book  offered  you  for  a  shilling,  at  all  railway  stations; 
and  indeed  I  perceive  the  word  '  representative  man  '  (as 
applied  to  the  tragic  loss  we  have  had  in  Sir  Robert  Peel)  has 
been  accepted  by  the  Able-Editors  and  circulates  through 
newspapers  as  an  appropriate  household  word,  which  is  some 
compensation  for  the  piracy  you  suffer  from  the  typographic 
Letter-of-Marque  men  here.  I  found  the  book  a  most  finished, 
clear  and  perfect  set  of  Engravings  in  the  line  manner  ;  por 
traitures  full  of  likeness,  and  abounding  in  instruction  and 
materials  for  reflection  to  me:  thanks  always  for  such  a  Book; 
and  Heaven  send  us  many  more  of  them.  Plato,  I  think, 
though  it  is  the  most  admired  by  many,  did  the  least  for  me: 
little  save  Socrates  with  his  clogs  and  big  ears  remains  alive 
with  me  from  it.  Swedenborg  is  excellent  in  likeness ;  excel 
lent  in  many  respects ;  yet  I  said  to  myself,  on  reaching  your 


NOTES  299 

general  conclusion  about  the  man  and  his  struggles :  '  Missed 
the  consummate  flower  and  divine  ultimate  elixir  of  Philoso 
phy,  say  you  ?  By  Heaven,  in  clutching  at  /'/,  and  almost 
getting  it,  he  has  tumbled  into  Bedlam,  —  which  is  a  terrible 
miss,  if  it  were  never  so  near  !  A  miss  fully  as  good  as  a  mile, 
I  should  say.'  — In  fact,  I  generally  dissented  a  little  about 
the  end  of  all  these  Essays  ;  which  was  notable,  and  not  with 
out  instructive  interest  to  me,  as  I  had  so  lustily  shouted  «  Hear, 
hear  ! '  all  the  way  from  the  beginning  up  to  that  stage.  — 
On  the  whole  let  us  have  another  book  with  your  earliest  con 
venience  :  that  is  the  modest  request  one  makes  of  you  on 
shutting  this." 

Earlier  in  the  letter  Carlyle  had  said,  "Though  I  see  well 
enough  what  a  great  deep  cleft  divides  us,  in  our  ways  of 
practically  looking  at  this  world,  —  I  see  also  (as  probably 
you  do  yourself)  where  the  rock-strata,  miles  deep,  unite 
again  :  and  the  two  souls  are  at  one." 

The  new  book  was  well  received  on  both  sides  of  the  ocean. 
It  was  naturally  at  that  time  a  more  popular  book  than  the 
Essays  had  been.  It  received  a  most  appreciative  yet  critical 
notice  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  from  Emile  Montegut, 
who  was  struck  with  Emerson's  detachment  from  the  political 
and  religious  excitements  of  the  moment,  for  it  appeared  just 
after  the  Revolution  in  France  of  1848.  He  said,  "  Revolu 
tions  and  reactions  intimidate  him  not  at  all  and  do  not  draw 
him  in  the  least  from  his  convictions.  In  nothing  does  he  offer 
sacrifice  to  the  spirit  of  the  moment.  He  speaks  of  Sweden- 
borg  and  Plato  at  the  moment  when  the  whole  universe  has 
ears  only  for  Proudhon  and  Louis  Blanc.  He  praises  the  skep 
ticism  of  Montaigne  as  if  he  did  not  live  in  a  century  which 
boasts  of  having  the  most  absolute  philosophies. ' ' 

Mr.  Emerson's  friend  Horatio  Greenough,  the  sculptor,  in 
a  letter  written  in  December,  1851,  said:  — 


300  NOTES 

"  I  found  your  Representative  Men  in  the  hands  of  a  dame 
du  Palais  at  Vienna  in  '48  and  have  learned  that  she  has  been 
exiled,  having  made  herself  politically  obnoxious." 

This  "  Representative  Men"  may  have  been  a  newspaper 
report  of  the  lectures  as  delivered  in  London,  or,  more  prob 
ably,  Mr.  Greenough  made  a  mistake  either  in  the  volume 
or  the  date. 

But  the  book  was  not  everywhere  valued.  Mr.  George  W. 
Cooke  tells  in  his  book  on  Mr.  Emerson  that  a  writer  in  the 
New  Englander  found  it  "  purely  ridiculous  for  any  one  to 
laboriously  write  out  and  gravely  read  to  large  assemblies  such 
gratuitous  absurdities,"  and  made  other  severe  strictures  ; 
among  other  things,  saying  that  a  large  part  of  what  Mr. 
Emerson  had  then  written  "  must  be  little  else  than  a  carica 
ture  of  himself. "  The  same  idea  in  a  more  courteous  and 
complimentary  form  was,  after  Emerson's  death,  expressed  by 
Dr.  Holmes  in  his  Memoir,  thus  :  "  He  shows  his  own 
affinities  and  repulsions,  and,  as  everywhere,  writes  his  own 
biography,  no  matter  about  whom  or  what  he  is  talking. 
There  is  hardly  any  book  of  his  better  worth  study  by  those 
who  wish  to  understand  not  Plato,  not  Plutarch,  not  Napo 
leon,  but  Emerson  himself.  All  his  great  men  interest  us  for 
their  own  sake,  but  we  know  a  good  deal  about  most  of  them, 
and  Emerson  holds  the  mirror  up  to  them  at  just  such  an  angle 
that  we  see  his  own  face  as  well  as  that  of  his  hero  unintention 
ally,  unconsciously,  no  doubt,  but  by  a  necessity  which  he 
would  be  the  first  to  recognize. ' ' 

There  is  a  story  of  the  effect  of  this  book  on  a  schoolboy 
looking  for  light  which  should  here  be  told:  — 

"I  remember  a  day  when  I  stood  idly  over  a  counter  look 
ing  at  the  backs  of  what  seemed  to  be  newly  published  books. 
I  drew  out  one,  bound  in  plain  black  muslin.  Its  title,  Repre* 


NOTES  301 

sentative  Men,  attracted  me,  because  I  had  just  been  reading 
Plutarch's  Lives,  and  for  the  first  time  had  been  aroused  by 
the  reading  of  any  book.  Those  Greek  and  Roman  men 
moved  my  horizon  some  distance  from  its  customary  place. 
The  titles  of  the  books  were  at  least  cousins,  and  I  wondered 
if  there  had  been  any  representative  men  since  Epaminondas 
and  Scipio.  I  opened  the  volume  at  the  beginning,  '  Uses  of 
Great  Men,'  and  read  a  few  pages,  becoming  more  and  more 
agitated  until  I  could  read  no  more  there.  It  was  as  if  I  had 
looked  into  a  mirror  for  the  first  time.  I  turned  around,  fear 
ful  lest  some  one  had  observed  what  had  happened  to  me; 
for  a  complete  revelation  was  opened  in  those  few  pages,  and 
I  was  no  longer  the  same  being  that  had  entered  the  shop. 
These  were  the  words  for  which  I  had  been  hungering  and 
waiting.  This  was  the  education  I  wanted  —  the  message 
that  made  education  possible  and  study  profitable,  a  founda 
tion,  and  not  a  perpetual  scaffolding.  These  pages  opened  for 
me  a  path,  and  opened  it  through  solid  walls  of  ignorance  and 
the  limiting  environment  of  a  small  country  academy.  All  that 
is  now  far,  far  away,  and  seems  indeed  an  alien  history  ;  yet 
however  much  one  may  have  wandered  among  famous  books, 
it  would  be  ungrateful  not  to  remember  the  one  book  which 
was  the  talisman  to  all  its  fellows."  x 


USES    OF   GREAT    MEN 

Page  j,  note  i.  Mr.  Emerson  tells  in  his  Poems  how, 
when  the  west  wind  was  making  music  in  the  ./Eolian  harp  in 
his  study  windows,  — 

»  Remembrances  of  Emerson,  by  John  Albee.  New  York:  International 
Book  and  Publishing  Co.  1900. 


302  NOTES 

Not  long  ago  at  eventide, 
It  seemed,  so  listening,  at  my  side 
A  window  rose,  and,  to  say  sooth, 
I  looked  forth  on  the  fields  of  youth: 
I  saw  fair  boys  bestriding  steeds, 
I  knew  their  forms  in  fancy  weeds, 
Long,  long  concealed  by  sundering  fates, 
Mates  of  my  youth,  —  yet  not  my  mates, 
Stronger  and  bolder  far  than  I, 
With  grace,  with  genius,  well  attired 
And  then  as  now  from  far  admired, 
Followed  with  love 
They  knew  not  of, 
With  passion  cold  and  shy. 

«  The  Harp." 

Again,  perhaps  recalling  the  good  and  wise  women  who 
had  fostered  his  childhood  and  early  youth,  he  tells  that  it  is 
revealed  to  the  poet,  — 

That  blessed  gods  in  servile  masks 
Plied  for  thee  thy  household  tasks. 

"Saadi." 

Page  4,  note  I.  With  Mr.  Emerson  the  benefits  and 
pleasures  of  travel  were  incidental.  He  used  the  opportunities 
by  the  way,  but  when  invited  to  travel  for  pleasure,  inclined 
to  say  like  the  young  Jesus,  "  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be 
about  my  Father's  business  ?  "  Men  interested  him  more  than 
places:  his  New  England  village  was  enough  for  him.  His 
journal  of  travel  in  1833,  the  substance  of  which  appears  rn 
the  first  chapter  o't  English  Traits,  shows  this.  The  verses, 
"  Written  at  Rome,  1833,"  in  the  Poems,  end  with  a  long 
ing  to  find  the  true  man,  whom  a  few  weeks  later  he  sought 
out  among  the  Scottish  moors. 


NOTES  303 

Page  4,  note  2.  To  the  same  purpose  is  a  passage  about 
"  the  masses  "  early  in  "Considerations  by  the  Way,"  in 
Conduct  of  Life,  and  in  a  more  human  and  sympathetic  tone 
in  the  last  pages  of  the  present  essay. 

Page  4,  note  j. 

"  We  find  in  our  dull  road  their  shining  track." 

Lowell's  Commemoration  Ode. 

Page  j,  note  I.  As  elsewhere  this  idealist  concedes  — 
"  Treat  men  and  women  well.  Treat  them  as  if  they  were 
real.  Perhaps  they  are." 

Page  f,  note  i.  It  is  not  easy  for  the  generation  who 
remember  only  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  believe 
that  the  persons  thus  described  abounded  in  New  England  at 
the  time  when  this  book  was  written.  When  the  period  of 
unrest  is  again  followed  by  one  of  eager  aspiration,  the  like 
may  occur. 

Page  8,  note  I.  When  young  people  brought  their  prob 
lems  to  Mr.  Emerson,  they  may  at  first  have  experienced  dis 
appointment  at  not  receiving  the  easy  answers  for  which  they 
hoped.  His  answer  was  a  large  one,  more  serviceable  later, 
if  they  considered  it.  Their  individualities  were  different  from 
his,  and  scope  must  be  left  for  these.  He  wrote  in  his  journal, 
"  If  we  could  speak  the  direct  solving  words,  it  would  solve 
us  too."  Compare  the  last  part  of  the  "  Celestial  Love  "  in 
the  Poems. 

Page  8,  note  2.  Jacob  Behmen,  or  Boehme,  a  Silesian 
of  humble  birth  in  the  sixteenth  century,  a  mystic  whose 
writings  later  attracted  much  attention.  Mr.  Emerson  was 
early  interested  in  his  works  and  often  mentions  them. 

Page  9,  note  i.    He  welcomed  each  discovery  for  its  use 


304  NOTES 

and  beauty,  and  more  for  its  significance,  which  it  was  his 
delight  to  find.    He  said  of  Nature,  — 

Day  by  day  for  her  darlings  to  her  much  she  added  more ; 
In  her  hundred-gated  Thebes  every  chamber  was  a  door, 
A  door  to  something  grander,  —  loftier  walls  and  vaster  floor. 
And  Nature  says,  — 

He  lives  not  who  can  refuse  me ; 

All  my  force  saith,  Come  and  use  me. 

Page  p,  note  2.  Among  other  sentences  in  the  original 
lecture  which  were  pruned  out  of  the  essay  because  their  sub 
stance  occurs  later,  was  this  strong  one  :  "  Man  is  a  piece 
of  the  Universe  made  alive." 

Page  10,  note  i,  William  Gilbert,  the  greatest  man  of 
science  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  especially  noted  for  his 
discovery  that  the  earth  is  a  great  magnet. 

Hans  Christian  Oersted  of  Denmark,  who  in  1820  an 
nounced  his  discovery  of  the  identity  of  electricity  and  mag 
netism. 

Page  10,  note  2.  Journal,  1885  (compare  passage,  varied, 
in  Nature,  p.  27).  "  Natural  History  by  itself  has  no  value: 
it  is  like  a  single  sex,  but  marry  it  to  human  history  and  it  is 
poetry.  Whole  floras,  all  Linnaeus' s  or  BufFon's  volumes,  con 
tain  not  one  line  of  poetry;  but  the  meanest  natural  fact,  the 
habit  of  a  plant,  the  organs,  or  work,  or  noise  of  an  insect, 
applied  to  a  fact  in  human  nature,  is  beauty,  is  poetry,  is 
truth  at  once." 

Page  II,  note  I. 

I  am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt. 

"  Brahma,"  Poems. 

Page  II,  note  2.  Compare  the  motto  of  '*  Wealth  "  in 
Conduct  of  Life. 


NOTES  305 

Page  13,  note  I.    But  not  forgetting,  in  the  material  gain, 
its  main  use  —  the  spiritual. 

Page  14,  note  I.    This  idea  is  found  in  the  poems  «*  Des 
tiny  "  and  "  Fate." 
15  >  note  !• 


Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 
To  master  my  despair  ; 
The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 
Are  through  thy  friendship  fair. 

'  '  Friendship,  '  '  Poems. 

Page  15,  note  2.  In  his  afternoon  walks  through  the 
Walden  woods  while  he  was  writing  this  book,  Mr.  Emer 
son  saw  with  respect  the  unprecedented  day's  work  of  the 
newly  imported  Irishmen  on  the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  then  in 
process  of  construction. 

Page  15,  note  j.  This  introductory  chapter  to  the  Repre 
sentative  Men  may  be  compared  with  Carlyle's  Heroes  and 
Hero-worship,  published  ten  years  earlier.  In  Mr.  Emerson's 
essay  on  Aristocracy,  called  Natural  Aristocracy  when  read 
as  a  lecture  in  England,  are  several  passages  similar  to  the 
one  on  this  page,  sympathizing  with  the  admiration  for 
"  men  who  are  incomparably  superior  to  the  populace  in 
ways  agreeable  to  the  populace,  showing  them  the  way  they 
shall  go,  doing  for  them  what  they  wish  done  and  cannot 
do  ;  "  —  "  the  steel  hid  under  gauze  and  lace  under  flowers 
and  spangles." 

Page  16,  note  i.  This  was  his  own  rule  —  never  to  "  talk 
down"  to  others.  When  in  1834  he  made  his  home  in 
Concord,  and  began  his  new  life  as  lecturer  and  writer,  he 
entered  in  his  journal  this  resolve  :  — 

"  Henceforth  I  design  not  to  utter  any  speech,  poem  or 

IV 


306  NOTES 

book  that  is  not  entirely  and  peculiarly  my  work.  I  will  say 
at  public  lectures  and  the  like  those  things  which  I  have  medi 
tated  for  their  own  sake,  and  not  for  the  first  time  with  a  view 
to  that  occasion."  And  again,  "  Do  not  cease  to  utter  them 
and  make  them  as  pure  of  all  dross  as  if  thou  wert  to  speak 
to  sages  and  demigods,  and  be  no  whit  ashamed  if  not  one, 
yea,  not  one  in  the  assembly  should  give  sign  of  intelligence. 
Is  it  not  pleasant  to  you  —  unexpected  wisdom  ?  depth  of 
sentiment  in  middle  life,  persons  that  in  the  thick  of  the  crowd 
are  true  kings  and  gentlemen  without  the  harness  and  envy  of 
the  throne  ? ' ' 

Page  17,  note  i.  Mr.  Emerson,  in  the  lecture  on  Shak- 
speare  in  this  volume,  tells  of  such  an  experience  while  seeing 
Hamlet  performed. 

Page  18,  note  I.  He  did  not  believe  that  men  could  be 
forced  or  pledged  to  reform.  When  the  way  was  made  beau 
tiful  to  them,  they  could  not  choose  but  take  it.  He  wished 
no  disciples.  "  The  poet,"  he  said,  "  is  the  liberator." 

Page  19,  note  I.    The  Over-Soul  doctrine. 

Page  20,  note  i.  That  is,  the  ideal,  instead  of  the  out 
ward  shows  of  things. 

Page  21,  note  I.  From  a  noble  poem  by  John  Sterling, 
entitled  "  Daedalus,"  in  honor  of  Greek  sculpture  and  lament 
ing  the  lost  art.  This  poem  by  his  friend  is  included  in  Emer 
son's  collection  Parnassus. 

Page  21,  note  2.  Out  of  these  losses  he  redeemed  "  Days," 
which  he  once  said  he  thought  perhaps  his  best  poem. 

Page  21 1  note  j.  Probably  suggested  by  Balzac's  Peau 
de  Chagrin. 

Page  23,  note  I.  Journal,  April,  1839.  "  Yesterday  I  read 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  tragedy  '  The  False  One,'  which, 
instead  of  taking  its  name  from  Septimius,  ought  to  have  been 


NOTES  307 

'  Cleopatra.'  A  singular  fortune  is  that  of  the  man  Caesar, 
to  have  given  name  as  he  has  to  all  that  is  heroic  ambition  in 
the  imaginations  of  painters  and  poets.  Cassar  must  still  be 
the  speaking-trumpet  through  which  this  large  wild  com 
manding  spirit  must  always  be  poured.  The  Poet  would  be 
a  great  man.  His  power  is  intellectual.  Instantly  he  seizes 
these  hollow  puppets  of  Caesar,  of  Tamerlane,  of  Boadicea, 
of  Belisarius,  and  inflates  them  with  his  own  vital  air.  If  he 
can  verily  ascend  to  grandeur,  —  if  his  soul  is  grand,  behold 
his  puppets  attest  his  weight,  they  are  no  more  puppets  but 
instant  vehicles  of  the  wine  of  God :  they  shine  and  over 
flow  with  the  streams  of  that  universal  energy  that  beamed 
from  Czesar's  eye,  poised  itself  in  Hector's  spear,  purer  sat 
with  Epaminondas,  with  Socrates,  purest  with  thee,  thou  holy 
child  Jesus." 

Page  23,  note  2. 

Who  bides  at  home,  nor  looks  abroad, 
Carries  the  eagles  and  masters  the  sword. 

"  Destiny,"  Poems. 

Page  24,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson  gives  in  a  journal  an  in 
stance  of  the  humble  compensations  —  a  case  of  a  poor  feeble 
minded  girl  who  went  about  the  house  bragging  that  she  was 
not  dead. 

Page  25,  note  I.  He  told  Mr.  John  Albee,  who,  still  a 
boy  in  Andover  Academy,  visited  him,  that  it  was  a  great 
day  in  a  man's  life  when  he  first  read  the  Symposium. 

Page  25,  note  2,  Mr.  Emerson  had  great  skill  in  lifting 
the  conversation  from  a  low  and  gossiping  level,  without  ap 
parent  reproof  or  incivility. 

Page  27,  note  r.  *'  Au  nom  de  Dieu,  ne  me  parlez  plus 
de  cet  homme  la  !  " 


308  NOTES 

Page  27,  note  2. 

If  love  his  moment  over-stay, 
Hatred's  swift  repulsions  play. 

"The  Visit,"  Poems. 

Page  28,  note  i.  The  Oriental  doctrine,  alluded  to  in  his 
poem  "Uriel":  — 

Doomed  to  long  gyration 
In  the  sea  of  generation. 

Page  jo,  note  i. 

In  vain:  the  stars  are  glowing  wheels, 
Giddy  with  motion  Nature  reels, 
Sun,  moon,  man,  undulate  and  stream, 
The  mountains  flow,  the  solids  seem, 
Change  acts,  reacts;  back,  forward  hurled,    . 
And  pause  were  palsy  to  the  world. 

"  The  Poet,"  Poems,  Appendix. 

Page  jj,  note  i,  Mr.  Emerson's  frequent  use  of  his 
classical  education,  not  pedantically,  but  to  secure  the  attention 
of  the  reader  and  make  the  expression  exact  and  picturesque, 
is  well  shown  in  the  choice  of  the  word  flagrant  as  if  the 
human  world  were  traced  out  in  the  general  dimness  by  its 
blazing  beacon  lights.  "  Federal  errors,"  a  few  pages  earlier, 
for  mistakes  sanctioned  by  custom  is  another  example. 

Page  jj,  note  2.  Immortality  in  some  form  seems  taken 
for  granted  by  this  expression. 

FaSe  34>  note  i> 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 
Was  writ  on  tables  still  unbroken. 

"  The  Problem, "Poems. 

Page  35,  note  I.    The  constant  security  of  Mr.  Emerson's 


NOTES  309 

belief  in  Evolution  in  its  highest  sense  appears  here  as  every 
where  in  his  prose  and  verse,  and  also  his  belief  in  the  genius 
of  mankind,  which  is  another  word  for  the  Universal  Mind. 
He  wrote  thus  of  the  Poet  in  his  journal  of  1838:  — 

"  Morning  and  evening  he  blessed  the  world.  Where  he 
went  the  trees  knew  him,  and  the  earth  felt  him  to  the  roots 
of  the  grass.  Yet  a  few  things  sufficed.  One  tree  was  to  him 
as  a  grove;  the  eyes  of  one  maiden  taught  him  all  charms; 
and  by  a  single  wise  man  he  knew  Jesus  and  Plato  and  Shak- 
speare  and  the  angels." 


PLATO;    OR,   THE   PHILOSOPHER 

Dr.  Richard  Garnett,  in  his  Life  of  Emerson,  ends  his 
comment  on  the  previous  chapter,  the  "  Uses  of  Great  Men," 
by  saying  that  ««  we  find  ourselves  landed  at  last  in  Emerson's 
favourite  conclusion  [the  Universal  Mind] ,  with  but  slight 
idea  how  we  have  arrived  at  it.  «  Genius  appears  as  the 
exponent  of  a  vaster  mind  and  will.  The  opaque  self  becomes 
transparent  with  the  light  of  a  First  Cause.'  It  is  the  pur 
pose  of  the  remaining  lectures  to  resolve  this  pure  ray  of 
primal  intellect  into  the  sixfold  spectrum  of  philosopher, 
mystic,  skeptic,  poet,  man  of  the  world,  and  writer  respectively 
personified  by  Plato,  Swedenborg,  Montaigne,  Shakspeare, 
Napoleon,  and  Goethe." 

In  Mr.  Emerson's  journal  in  the  spring  of  1845  is  this  note: 
"  A  Pantheon  course  of  lectures  should  consist  of  heads  like 
these.  [Here  follow  the  six  names  of  the  subjects  of  these 
chapters.]  Jesus  should  properly  be  one  head,  but  it  requires 
great  power  of  intellect  and  of  sentiment  to  subdue  the  biases 


310  NOTES 

of  the  mind  of  the  age  and  render  historic  justice  to  the  world's 
chief  saint." 

As  has  been  said  in  the  introductory  note,  Mr.  Emerson 
began  in  his  college  days  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Plato, 
and  the  readings  thereafter  were  a  frequent  refreshment. 
When  he  went  to  lonely  Nantasket  Beach  to  write  his  oration, 
Z^i?  Method  of  Nature,  he  read  in  Plato  for  inspiration,  and 
wrote  thence  to  a  friend:  — 

1 8  JULY,  1841. 

I  brought  here  Phtedrus,  Meno  and  the  Banquet,  which 
I  have  diligently  read.  What  a  great  uniform  gentleman  is 
Plato!  Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  him  than  his  good- 
breeding.  Never  pedantic,  never  wire-drawn  or  too  fine, 
and  never,  O  never  obtuse  or  saturnine  ;  but  so  accomplished, 
so  good  humoured,  so  perceptive,  so  uniting  wisdom  and 
poetry,  acuteness  and  humanity,  into  such  a  golden  average, 
that  one  understands  how  he  shall  enjoy  his  long  Augustan 
empire  in  literature.  I  have  also  three  volumes  new  to  me  of 
Thomas  Taylor's  translations,  Proclus,  Ocellus  Lucanus,  and 
Pythagorean  Fragments. 

The  next  year  he  writes  to  the  same  friend  :  — 

CONCORD,  7  MAY,  1842. 

...  I  read  last  week  the  Protagoras  and  Theages  of 
Plato.  The  first  is  excellent  and  gave  me  much  to  think. 
With  what  security  and  common  sense  this  Plato  treads  the 
cliffs  and  pinnacles  of  Parnassus,  as  if  he  walked  in  a  street, 
and  came  down  again  into  a  street  as  if  he  lived  there. 

My  dazzling  friends  of  Alexandria,  the  New  Platonists, 
have  none  of  this  air  of  facts  and  society  about  them.  This 
Socrates  is  as  good  as  Don  Quixote  all  the  time.  What  im- 
penetrable  armor  of  witty  courtesy  covers  him  every  moment. 


NOTES  311 

In  his  journal,  under  the  head  of  "The  Poppy- wreath," 
he  says,  "  Plato,  well  guarded  from  those  to  whom  he  does 
not  belong  by  a  river  of  sleep. ' ' 

Journal,  1845.  "It  requires  for  the  reading  and  final  dis 
position  of  Plato,  all  sorts  of  readers,  Frenchmen,  Germans, 
Italians,  English,  and  Americans.  If  it  were  left  to  apprehen 
sive,  gentle,  imaginative,  Plato-like  persons,  no  justice  would 
be  done  to  his  essence  and  totality,  through  the  excess  or 
violence  of  affection  that  would  be  spent  on  his  excellence  of 
reason  and  imagination.  But  Frenchmen  have  no  reverence, 
they  seize  the  book  like  merchants,  it  is  a  piece  of  goods,  and 
is  treated  without  ceremony  after  the  manner  of  commerce; 
and  though  its  diviner  merits  are  lost  by  their  profanation,  the 
coarser,  namely,  the  texture  and  coherence  of  the  whole  and 
its  larger  plan,  its  French  availableness,  its  fitness  to  French 
taste,  by  comprehending  that.  Too  much  seeing  is  as  fatal 
to  just  seeing  as  blindness  is.  People  speak  easily  of  Cud- 
worth,  but  I  know  no  book  so  difficult  to  read  as  Cudworth 
proper.  For,  as  it  is  a  magazine  of  quotations,  of  extraordinary 
ethical  sentences,  the  shining  summits  of  ancient  philosophy, 
and  as  Cudworth  himself  is  a  dull  writer,  the  eye  of  the  reader 
rests  habitually  on  these  wonderful  revelations,  and  refuses  to 
be  withdrawn;  so  that  after  handling  the  book  for  years,  the 
method  and  the  propositions  of  Cudworth  still  remain  a  pro 
found  secret.  Cudworth  is  sometimes  read  without  the  Platon- 
ism;  which  would  be  like  reading  Theobald's  Shakspeare, 
leaving  out  only  what  Shakspeare  wrote. 

"I  think  the  best  reader  of  Plato  the  least  able  to  receive 
the  totality  at  first,  just  as  a  botanist  will  get  the  totality  of 
a  field  of  flowers  better  than  a  poet." 

Page jp,  note  i.    The  less  usual   use  of  "secular,"   as 


312  NOTES 

applied  to  books,  in  its  strict  classic  sense,  to  mean  that  live 
through  the  ages,  is  characteristic. 

Omar  the  Caliph  was  Mahomet's  cousin  and  second  suc 
cessor. 

Page  jp,  note  2.  Here  came  in,  in  the  original  lecture,  the 
sentences:  "Nothing  but  God  can  give  invention.  Every 
thing  else,  one  would  say,  the  study  of  Plato  would  give." 

Page  jp,  note  j>.  And  yet  Plato  quotes  from  the  earlier 
men,  as  mentioned  later  in  this  essay  and  in  "  Quotation  and 
Originality,"  Letters  and  Social  Aims. 

Page  40,  note  i.  This  rare  book  is  thus  entitled  :  — 
Practical  Philosophy  of  the  Muhammadan  People,  exhibited 
in  its  professed  connection  with  the  European,  so  as  to  render 
either  an  introduction  to  the  other ,-  being  a  translation  of  the 
AKHLAK-I-JALALY,  the  most  esteemed  work  of  Middle 
Asia,  from  the  Persian  of  Fakir  Jany  Muhammad  Asaad, 
(with  references  and  notes},  by  W.  F.  Thomson,  Esq.,  of 
the  Bengal  Civil  Service.  London,  1839. 

The  translator  says  in  his  introduction,  "  The  latter  half  of 
the  fifteenth  century  may  indeed  be  considered  as  the  Augus 
tan  age  of  Persian  letters,"  that  about  that  time  the  Akhlak-i- 
Jalaly  was  produced,  and  that  it  is  "  the  best  digest  of  the 
important  topics  of  which  it  treats."  He  says  that  through 
the  translations  of  the  Greek  philosophers,  or,  in  some  cases, 
the  transference  "in  extract  from  writer  to  writer,"  the 
Moslem  people  came  to  have  a  knowledge  of  the  great  Greek 
systems  of  thought.  "  The  most  successful  efforts  of  the 
entire  people"  to  reconcile  the  Greek  philosophy  with  the 
social  and  religious  systems  of  the  Mohammedans  "may  be 
said  to  be  concentrated  in  the  work  before  us  ;  but  the  treatise 
from  which  it  more  particularly  originates  is  the  Kitat-at- 
Jaharat,  an  Arabic  work  composed  in  the  tentr  century." 


NOTES  313 

This  work  "  is  an  amalgam  of  Platonic  and  Aristotelian  phi 
losophy,  carried  out,  however,  to  the  most  minute  practical 
application,"  etc.  This  Arabic  work,  having  passed  with 
improvements,  due  to  the  increase  of  knowledge  in  five  hun 
dred  years,  through  the  hands  of  two  Persian  writers,  appears 
as  the  Akhlak-i-Jalalj.  It  treats,  after  an  Exordium,  in  Book 
I.  of  The  Individual  State;  in  Book  II.  of  The  Domestic 
State  ;  in  Book  III.  of  The  Political  State,  and  in  the  Con 
clusion  gives,  I.  Platonic  Maxims  on  Ethics  ;  II.  Aristotelian 
Maxims  on  Politics. 

Page  42,  note  I,  Dr.  Holmes  thus  comments  on  this  pas 
sage  :  "The  reader  will,  I  hope,  remember  this  last  general 
statement  when  he  learns  from  what  wide  fields  of  authorship 
Emerson  filled  his  store-houses." 

Page  43,  note  i,  Mr.  Emerson  quotes  Stanley  as  saying 
that  Plato  first  used  the  word  Poem. 

Page  43,  note  2.  When  Mr.  Emerson  gave  this  lecture 
in  Concord,  a  lady  walking  home  with  her  neighbor,  a  sub 
stantial  farmer's  wife,  found  that  she  did  not  approve  of  it. 
On  pressing  her  to  learn  what  she  objected  to,  the  disapprov 
ing  matron  said,  "Well!  If  those  old  heathen  did  what  Mr. 
Emerson  said  they  did,  the  less  said  about  them  the  better!" 
"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  "  He  said  they  ground  their 
wives  and  children  into  paint !  " 

Page  4.7,  note  i.  The  majesty  of  planets  and  suns  and 
systems,  in  their  ordered  courses,  especially  appealed  to  Emer 
son  from  his  youth.  He  draws  constantly  his  imagery  from 
astronomy,  and  especially  honored  Galileo,  Copernicus,  Kep. 
ler,  and  Newton.  In  the  years  between  1835  and  1845  his 
journals  and  the  scattered  fragments  of  "The  Poet"  (see 
Poems,  Appendix)  show  how  constantly  he  sought  "  the  sweet 
influence  of  the  Pleiades"  and  "  Arcturus  and  his  sons." 


314  NOTES 

Divine  inviters,  I  accept 
The  courtesy  ye  have  shown  and  kept 
From  ancient  ages  for  the  bard. 

O  birds  of  ether  without  wings! 
O  heavenly  ships  without  a  sail ! 
O  fire  of  fire !  O  best  of  things ! 
O  mariners  who  never  fail! 
Sail  swiftly  through  your  amber  vault, 
An  animated  law,  a  presence  to  exalt. 

Page  4.8,  note  i.  These  doctrines  are  discussed  in  the 
Parmenides  and  the  Theeetetus  of  Plato.  That  of  the  Identity, 
"Ev  KCU  Trav,  came  from  Xenophanes.  See  also  Emerson's 
"  Xenophanes  "  in  the  Poems. 

Page  4.9,  note  I.  The  journal  of  1845  shows  that  Mr. 
Emerson  was  reading,  not  only  in  the  Koran  and  Akhlak-i- 
jalaly,  but  in  the  East  Indian  Scriptures,  and  he  gives  many 
quotations.  He  writes,  "  The  East  is  grand  and  makes 
Europe  appear  the  land  of  trifles."  It  was  natural  that  Plato 
should  lead  him  to  the  most  ancient  fountains  of  the  religion 
of  the  Aryan  race. 

In  the  midsummer  of  1 840  Mr.  Emerson  told  in  a  letter 
to  a  near  friend  of  his  high  prizing  of  the  Vedas.1 

"  In  the  sleep  of  the  great  heats  there  was  nothing  for  me 
but  to  read  the  Vedas,  the  bible  of  the  tropics,  which  1  find 
I  come  back  upon  every  three  or  four  years.  It  is  sublime 
as  heat  and  night  and  a  breathless  ocean.  It  contains  every 
religious  sentiment,  all  the  grand  ethics  which  visit  in  turn 
each  noble  and  poetic  mind,  and  nothing  is  easier  than  to 

i  Letters  of  Emerson  to  a  Friend,  edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton.  Bos 
ton:  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  1899. 


NOTES  315 

separate  what  must  have  been  the  primeval  inspiration  from 
the  endless  ceremonial  nonsense  which  caricatures  and  contra 
dicts  it  through  every  chapter.  It  is  of  no  use  to  put  away 
the  book :  if  I  trust  myself  in  the  woods  or  in  a  boat  upon 
the  pond,  nature  makes  a  Bramin  of  me  presently :  eternal 
necessity,  eternal  compensation,  unfathomable  power,  un 
broken  silence,  —  this  is  her  creed.  Peace,  she  saith  to  me, 
and  purity  and  absolute  abandonment  —  these  penances  ex 
piate  all  sin  and  bring  you  to  the  beatitude  of  the  Eight 
Gods." 

Page  49,  note  2,  The  thought  that  appears  in  *'  Brahma," 
which  is  but  a  poetical  rendering  of  a  passage  from  the  Bhaga- 
vat-Gita. 

Page  50,  note  I.  This  suggests  Mr.  Emerson's  poem 
"  Pan,"  which  has  often  been  alluded  to  in  these  notes  be 
cause  it  presents  the  doctrine  of  the  Over-Soul. 

Page  51,  note  I. 

Find  me,  and  turn  thy  back  on  Heaven. 

"  Brahma,"  Poems. 

Page  $4,  note  I.  Dr.  William  T.  Harris  said  of  this  pas 
sage:  "  What  Emerson  says  of  Plato  we  may  easily  and 
properly  apply  to  himself.  But  he  goes  farther  than  Plato 
toward  the  Orient,  and  his  pendulum  swings  farther  West 
into  the  Occident.  He  delights  in  the  all-absorbing  unity  of 
the  Brahman,  in  the  all-renouncing  ethics  of  the  Chinese  and 
Persian,  in  the  measureless  images  of  the  Arabian  and  Hindoo 
poets.  But  he  is  as  practical  as  the  extremest  of  his  country 
men.  His  practical  is  married  to  his  abstract  tendency.  It  is 
the  problem  of  evil  that  continually  haunts  him,  and  leads  him 
to  search  its  solution  in  the  Oriental  unity  which  is  above  all 
dualism  of  good  and  evil.  It  is  his  love  of  freedom  that  leads 


316  NOTES 

him  to  seek  in  the  same  source  an  elevation  of  thought  above 
the  trammels  of  finitude  and  complications.  Finally,  it  is  his 
love  of  beauty,  which  is  the  vision  of  freedom  manifested  in 
matter,  that  leads  him  to  Oriental  poetry,  which  sports  with 
the  finite  elements  of  the  world  as  though  they  were  unsub 
stantial  dreams."  ' 

PaSe  57  >  n°te  I-    From  the  Timteus. 

P#ge  58,  note  i. 

The  gods  talk  in  the  breath  of  the  woods, 

They  talk  in  the  shaken  pine, 

And  fill  the  long  reach  of  the  old  seashore 

With  dialogue  divine; 

And  the  poet  who  overhears 

Some  random  word  they  say 

Is  the  fated  man  of  men 

Whom  the  ages  must  obey. 

"  The  Poet,"  Poems ,  Appendix. 
See  also  the  poem  "  My  Garden." 

Page 58,  note  2.  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  Book  III., 
Canto  XI. 

Page  fp,  note  I.    From  the  Theatetus. 

Page  61,  note  I.    From  the  Gorgias. 

Page  6i>  note  2.  This  suggests  a  passage  in  a  letter  which 
Mr.  Emerson  wrote  to  a  spiritually  minded  Quaker  friend  in 
1847. 

"  For  the  science  of  God  our  language  is  unexpressive  and 
merely  prattle :  we  need  simpler  and  universal  signs,  as  algebra 
compared  with  arithmetic.  Thus  I  should  affirm  easily  both 

i  "  Emerson's  Orientalism  "  in  The  Genius  and  Character  of  Emerson, 
Lectures  at  the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy.  Boston:  J.  R.  Osgood  & 
Co.  1885. 


NOTES  317 

those  propositions,  which  our  Mr.  Griswold  balances  against 
one  another;  that,  I  mean,  of  Pantheism  and  the  other  ism. 

"  Personality,  too,  and  impersonality,  might  each  be  affirmed 
of  Absolute  Being;  and  what  may  not  be  affirmed  of  it  in 
our  own  mind  ?  And  when  we  have  heaped  a  mountain 
of  speeches,  we  have  still  to  begin  again,  having  nowise 
expressed  the  simple  unalterable  fact." 

Page  62,  note  i.  See  an  early  poem  of  Emerson's,  "  The 
Bohemian  Hymn,"  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Poems. 

Page  63,  note  i.    Compare  The  Republic,  Book  VII. 

Page  6j,  note  2.    From  the  Pheedrus. 

Page  6$,  note  I.  When,  as  a  schoolboy,  I  was  complain 
ing  of  the  difficulties  of  geometry,  I  was  surprised  at  my 
father's  words,  for  he  had  found  mathematics  so  hopeless  a 
study  for  himself  that  he  always  shared  his  children's  feelings 
on  the  subject,  much  to  their  comfort.  But  on  this  occasion 
he  said,  '« Geometry,  yes,  one  must  study  geometry  for  its 
elegance."  Plato  had  probably  made  it  sacred  to  him  —  in 
theory.  Yet  there  is  some  truth  in  Dr.  Holmes' s  remark, 
"  Lover  and  admirer  of  Plato  as  Emerson  was,  the  doors  of 
the  Academy,  over  which  was  the  inscription,  —  /x^Seis 
dyccD/AtVpT/Tos  euriTw  —  Let  no  one  unacquainted  with  Geo 
metry  enter  here,  —  would  have  been  closed  to  him." 

Page  66,  note  i. 

From  the  stores  of  eldest  matter, 
The  deep-eyed  flame,  obedient  water, 
Transparent  air,  all-feeding  earth, 
He  took  the  flower  of  all  their  worth, 
And,  best  with  best  in  sweet  consent, 
Combined  a  new  temperament. 

"  Fragments  on  Life,"  Poems,  Appendix. 


3i8  NOTES 

Page  68,  note  I.  It  was  this  doctrine  of  Symbolism  which 
made  Emerson  prize  Swedenborg  so  highly. 

Page  69,  note  jr.    See  Republic,  Book  VI. 

Page  69,  note  2.  Mr.  Emerson's  use  of  the  authors  was 
to  give  him  a  spur  —  he  "  read  for  lustres,"  and  in  the  great 
masters  especially.  Thus,  writing  to  Carlyle  in  July,,  1842, 
he  said,  "I  had  it  fully  at  heart  to  write  at  large  leisure  in 
noble  mornings,  opened  by  prayer,  or  by  readings  of  Plato 
or  whomsoever  else  is  dearest  to  the  Morning  Muse,  a  chap 
ter  on  Poetry,  for  which  all  readings,  all  studies,  are  but  pre 
paration." 

Page  70,  note  j~.  This  idea  appears  in  "Love"  in  the 
First  Series  of  Essays  and  in  the  poem  "Initial,  Daemonic, 
and  Celestial  Love." 

Page  76,  note  i.  This  literary  or  philosophic  coldness  Mr. 
Emerson  satirizes  in  some  lines  which,  after  his  death,  were 
printed  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Poems,  under  the  title  "  Phi 
losopher."  He  complained  of  finding  this  professional  mood 
in  himself  at  times.  To  pure  Intellect  he  always  assigned 
a  lower  plane  than  to  Love.  In  the  journal  for  1845  is  this 
passage,  headed  Buddha,  or  he  who  knows,  and  also  Icy 
Light:  — 

f<  Intellect  puts  an  interval:  if  we  converse  with  low  things, 
we  are  not  compromised,  the  interval  saves  us.  But  if  we  con 
verse  with  high  things,  with  heroic  persons,  with  virtues,  the 
interval  becomes  a  gulf,  and  we  cannot  enter  into  the  highest 
good." 

Page  j8,  note  I.  What  Mr.  Emerson  says  here  of  Plato, 
and  also  a  few  pages  earlier,  "  He  cannot  forgive  in  him 
self  a  partiality,  but  is  resolved  that  the  two  poles  of  thought 
shall  appear  in  his  statement,"  cannot  but  recall  his  own 
method  of  presenting  in  turn  different  facets  of  the  gem  of 


NOTES  319 

truth.  Churchman  and  Agnostic  can  easily  find  good  weapons 
for  argument  in  his  works.  Dr.  Holmes  says  of  this  passage, 
"  Some  will  smile  at  hearing  him  say  this  of  another."  It 
illustrates  the  felicity  of  the  Doctor's  remark  that  Emerson 
holds  up  the  mirror  to  his  characters  at  just  such  an  angle  that 
we  see  his  own  face  as  well  as  that  of  his  hero. 

Page  fp,  note  I.  Dr.  Richard  Garnett  tells  a  story  of  an 
occurrence  which  might  well  have  happened  in  England  : 
"  Can  you  tell  me,"  asked  an  auditor  of  his  neighbor  at  the 
lecture,  "  what  connection  all  this  has  with  Plato  ?  "  "  None, 
my  friend,  save  in  God." 

Page  8l,  note  i.  This  paragraph  suggests  the  "  Song  of 
Nature  "  in  the  Poems. 

Page  82,  note  i.  But  these  lines  are  but  segments  of  great 
returning  curves  like  the  orbits  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

In  vain  produced,  all  rays  return, 
Evil  will  bless  and  ice  will  burn. 

Page  83,  note  I.  The  cave  of  Trophonius,  where  he  de 
livered  oracles,  is  more  particularly  told  about  by  Plutarch  in 
his  Lives.  The  ring,  strangely  found  by  Gyges  the  shepherd, 
made  him  invisible  and  by  means  of  it  he  won  great  temporal 
power  (Republic,  Book  II.).  The  soul  is  figuratively  repre 
sented  as  a  pair  of  winged  horses  and  a  charioteer.  "  Now 
the  winged  horses  and  the  charioteer  of  the  gods  are  all  of 
them  noble  and  of  noble  breed,  while  ours  are  mixed,  and  we 
have  a  charioteer  who  drives  them  in  a  pair,  and  one  of  them' 
is  noble,  and  of  noble  origin,  and  the  other  is  ignoble,  .  .  , 
and,  as  might  be  expected,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in 
managing  them."  (Phcedrus.'} 

"  God  has  formed  you  differently.  Some  of  you  have  the 
power  of  command  and  these  he  has  composed  of  gold,  where- 


320  NOTES 

fore  also  they  have  the  greatest  honor ;  others  of  silver  to  be 
auxiliaries ;  others  again  who  are  to  be  husbandmen  and  crafts 
men  he  has  made  of  brass  and  iron ;  and  the  species  will  gen 
erally  be  preserved  in  their  children.  But,  as  you  are  of  the 
same  original  family,  a  golden  parent  will  sometimes  have  a 
silver  son  or  a  silver  parent  a  golden  son."  (Republic,  Book 
III.) 

Socrates  relates  that  the  Egyptian  god  Theuth,  having  in 
vented  the  use  of  letters,  showed  them  to  Thamus  the  king. 
"'This,'  saith  Theuth,  'will  make  Egyptians  wiser  and 
give  them  better  memories.'  But  Thamus  replied,  .  .  . 
*  This  invention  of  yours  will  create  forgetfulness  in  the 
learners'  souls,  because  they  will  not  use  their  memories.'  ' 
(Phatdrus.} 

In  the  strange  vision  of  Er,  the  Pamphylian,  is  the  scheme 
of  the  planetary  system  whirled  by  the  sister  Fates,  Lachesis 
singing  of  the  Past,  Clotho  of  the  Present,  and  Atropos  of 
the  Future.  He  saw  also  the  spirits  of  departed  heroes  choos 
ing  their  destinies  in  a  new  life.  (Republic,  Book  X.) 

Page  83,  note  2.  Dr.  Holmes  says,  "  These  two  quaint 
adjectives  are  from  the  mint  of  Cudworth." 

Page  83,  note  i.  These  correspondences  of  matter  and 
spirit  Mr.  Emerson  celebrates  everywhere. 

Subtle  rhymes,  with  ruin  rife, 
Murmur  in  the  house  of  life, 
Sung  by  the  Sisters  as  they  spin ; 
In  perfect  time  and  measure  they 
Build  and  unbuild  our  echoing  clay. 
As  the  two  twilights  of  the  day 
Fold  us  music-drunken  in. 

"  Merlin,"  II.,  Poems. 


NOTES  321 

Page  86,  note  I. 

Vast  the  realm  of  Being  is, 
In  the  waste  one  nook  is  his ; 
Whatsoever  hap  befalls 
In  his  vision's  narrow  walls 
He  is  here  to  testify. 

"  Fragments  on  Life,"  Poems,  Appendix. 

Page  (?/,  note  I.  And  yet,  in  the  winnowing  of  Time, 
Plato  is  not  one  of  those  who,  as  poet,  survived  "  The  Test  " 
as  answered  in  "The  Solution,"  in  the  Poems,  although, 
strangely,  Swedenborg  is.  Perhaps  this  was  because  Emerson 
chose  but  one  representative  of  a  nation  and  Homer  stood  for 
Greece. 


SWEDENBORG 

As  has  been  said  in  the  Introduction  to  this  volume,  it  is 
almost  certain  that  the  little  book  by  Sampson  Reed,  The 
Growth  of  the  Mind,  first  interested  Mr.  Emerson  in  the 
writings  of  Swedenborg.  That  book  was  published  in  Boston 
when  Mr.  Emerson  was  twenty-three  years  old.  A  few  years 
later  he  wrote  in  his  journal :  — 

CHARDON  ST.,  gra  OCTOBER,  1829. 
I  am  glad  to  see  that  Interpretations  of  Scripture  like  those 
of  the  New  Jerusalem  Church  can  be  accepted  in  our  com 
munity.  The  most  spiritual  and  sublime  sense  is  put  upon 
various  historical  passages  of  the  New  Testament.  The  inter 
pretation  of  the  passages  is  doubtless  wholly  false.  The  Apos 
tle  John  in  Patmos  and  our  Saviour  in  his  talking  meant  no 

IV 


322  NOTES 

such  things  as  the  commentator  says  he  meant.  But  the  sen 
timent  which  the  commentator  puts  into  their  mouths  is  never 
theless  true  and  eternal.  The  wider  that  sentiment  can  be 
spread  and  the  more  effect  it  can  have  on  men's  lives,  the 
better.  And  if  the  fool-part  of  man  must  have  the  lie,  if  truth 
is  a  pill  that  can't  go  down  till  'tis  sugared  with  superstition, 
why  then  I  will  forgive  the  last  in  (the)  belief  that  the  truth 
will  enter  into  the  Soul  natively,  and  so  assimilantly  that  it 
will  become  part  of  the  soul  and  so  remain,  when  the  false 
hood  grows  dry  and  lifeless,  and  peels  off. 

In  his  first  letter  to  Carlyle,  Emerson  tells  him  that  he  is 
sending  him  The  Growth  of  the  Mind,  and  the  former,  in 
his  answer,  says,  "  a  faithful  thinker,  that  Swedenborgian 
druggist  of  yours,  with  really  deep  ideas,  who  makes  me  too 
pause  and  think,  were  it  only  to  consider  what  manner  of 
man  he  must  be,  and  what  manner  of  thing,  after  all,  Sweden- 
borgianism  must  be.  «  Through  the  smallest  window  look 
well,  and  you  can  look  out  into  the  Infinite.'  ' 

To  this  Emerson  answered  :  — 

NOVEMBER,  1834. 

Swedenborgianism,  if  you  should  be  fortunate  in  your 
first  meetings,  has  many  points  of  attraction  for  you :  for  in 
stance,  this  article,  '  The  poetry  of  the  Old  Church  is  the 
reality  of  the  New,'  which  is  to  be  literally  understood,  for 
they  esteem,  in  common  with  all  the  Trismegisti,  the  Natural 
World  as  strictly  the  symbol  or  exponent  of  the  Spiritual,  and 
part  for  part.  ...  It  is  only  when  they  come  to  their  de 
scriptive  theism,  if  I  may  say  so,  and  then  to  their  drollest 
heaven,  and  to  some  autocratic,  not  moral,  decrees  of  God, 
that  the  mythus  loses  me.  In  general,  too,  they  receive  the 
fable  instead  of  the  moral  of  their  ^Esop.  They  are  to  me, 


NOTES  323 

however,  deeply  interesting,  as  a  sect  which  I  think  must 
contribute  more  than  all  other  sects  to  the  new  faith  which 
must  arise  out  of  all. 

The  value  which  Mr.  Emerson  set  upon  Swedenborg  was 
a  notable  case  of  his  taking  people  and  things  "  by  their  best 
handle."  His  recoil  from  all  the  parson  and  sexton  and  con 
troversial  elements  of  Swedenborg' s  writing,  the  Hebraism  and 
prosiness  of  expression  and  the  wearisome  length,  is  sanely  ex 
pressed  with  a  kindly  humor.  But  the  perception  by  Sweden 
borg,  though  no  poet,  of  the  meaning  of  things,  the  rhyme 
of  matter  and  spirit,  delighted  the  poet. 

Dr.  Garnett  says,  "  Nothing  can  be  more  generous  than 
his  trampling  down  of  prejudice  in  recognizing  the  true  in 
spiration  of  Swedenborg,  or  more  crushing  than  his  criticism 
of  the  purely  mechanical  element  in  that  seer." 

As  a  contrast  and  showing  the  difference  in  the  tempera 
ment  and  the  method  of  the  men,  part  of  Carlyle's  comment 
on  Emerson's  estimate  of  Swedenborg  already  quoted  may  be 
recalled:  "Missed  the  consummate  flower  and  divine  ulti 
mate  elixir  of  Philosophy,  say  you  ?  By  Heaven,  in  clutching 
at  it,  and  almost  getting  it,  he  has  tumbled  into  Bedlam,  — 
which  is  a  terrible  miss,  if  it  were  never  so  near !  A  miss 
tally  as  good  as  a  mile,  I  should  say!  "  —  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen, 
quoting  this  passage,  says :  *'  Emerson  would  apparently  reply 
not  by  denying  the  truth  of  the  remark,  but  by  declaring  it 
to  be  irrelevant.  Swedenborg,  like  other  prophets,  fell  into 
absurdities  when  he  became  a  system-monger,  and  Emerson 
could  condemn  some  of  the  results  sharply  enough.  He  was 
not  the  less  grateful  for  the  inspiration  because  associated  with 
absurdities  which  might  qualify  the  prophet  for  Bedlam." 
(Studies  in  Biography.} 


324  NOTES 

Page  94,  note  I.  In  a  fragment  of  verse  on  the  Poet's 
gifts  he  said  :  — 

But  over  all  his  crowning  grace, 
Wherefor  thanks  God  his  daily  praise, 
Is  the  purging  of  his  eye 
To  see  the  people  of  the  sky: 
From  blue  mount  and  headland  dim 
Friendly  hands  stretch  forth  to  him, 
Him  they  beckon,  him  advise 
Of  heavenlier  prosperities 

Than  the  wine-fed  feasters  know. 

Poems,  Appendix. 

Page  95,  note  i.  This  story,  and  the  poetical  quotation 
before  it,  would  seem,  from  the  context  in  the  journal,  to  be 
from  the  Akhlak-i-Jalaly,  referred  to  in  the  notes  on  "Plato; 
or,  the  Philosopher." 

Page  96,  note  I.  The  quotation  came  from  Plato's  Meno, 
where,  as  also  in  the  Phcedrus,  the  doctrine  of  Reminiscence 
is  brought  forward,  and  here  is  reconciled  with  that  of  the 
Universal  Mind. 

Page  97,  note  i.  From  Dryden's  Absalom  and  Achito- 
phel. 

Page  97,  note  2.    Shakspeare,  Hamlet,  Act  I.,  Scene  iv. 

Page  102,  note  I.  John  Selden  (1584-1654),  jurist, 
antiquarian,  orientalist,  author.  His  Table-Talk  was  published 
in  1 68 1. 

Page  104,  note  7.  William  Gilbert  (1540-1603),  physi 
cian  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  was  a  man  of  great  scientific  attain 
ments.  He  wrote  on  the  magnet  and  explained  that  the 


NOTES  325 

Earth  was  a  vast  magnet.  On  his  recumbent  statue  in  Trinity 
Church,  Colchester,  is  engraved  Magneticarum  virtutum 
primus  indagator  Gilbertus. 

Rene  des  Cartes  (i  596—1650),  born  in  France  but  passing 
much  of  his  life  in  Germany,  Holland,  and  Sweden.  Dr.  Al 
fred  Weber  in  his  History  of  Philosophy  says  of  him  that  he 
should  be  regarded  as  "  a  geometrician  with  a  taste  for  meta 
physics  rather  than  a  philosopher  with  leanings  toward  mathe 
matics,"  and  that  those  who  regard  him  as  the  author  of  the 
psychological  method  are  right  in  so  far  as  observation  is  one 
of  the  phases  and  the  preparatory  stage  ...  in  the  Carte 
sian  method,  but  err  in  regarding  it  as  more  than  a  kind  of 
provisional  scaffolding  for  deductive  reasoning  which  is  the 
soul  of  his  philosophy.  The  schoolman  had  said  Credo  at  in- 
telligam.  Descartes  said  Dubito  ut  intelligam.  Self-evidence 
alone  was  needed  to  make  man  certain  of  anything.  Cogito 
ergo  sum  was  his  formula,  and  he  held  that  the  idea  of  God 
in  the  human  mind  implied  the  existence  of  the  perfect  Being. 
The  Vortex  in  his  philosophy  was  a  collection  of  material 
particles  forming  a  fluid  or  ether  endowed  with  a  rapid,  rota 
tory  motion  about  an  axis  and  filling  all  space,  by  which  Des 
cartes  accounted  for  the  motions  of  the  Universe. 

Page  104,  note  2,  Marcello  Malpighi  of  Bologna  (1628- 
1694)  is  considered  a  founder  of  microscopic  anatomy.  At 
the  age  of  seventeen  he  studied  Aristotle  and  the  use  of  the 
microscope.  Having  studied  medicine,  he  held  chairs  in  the 
universities  of  Pisa,  Messina,  and  for  twenty-five  years  at 
Bologna.  He  was  physician  to  Innocent  XII.  His  investiga 
tions  of  anatomical  structure  and  physiological  processes  were 
crowned  with  great  success.  He  discovered  the  capillary  cir 
culation  and  the  minute  secreting  structure  of  the  various 
glands. 


326  NOTES 

Leucippus  in  the  fifth  century  B.  c.  held  an  atomic  theory, 
later  expounded  by  Lucretius  in  his  poem  De  Rerum  Natura. 

Page  104,  note  j.  This  statement,  which,  seen  with  after 
lights,  seems  so  rash,  did  not  seem  very  startling  half  a  century 
ago  before  the  improvement  of  the  microscope,  and  the  gen 
eral  use  resulting  therefrom. 

Swammerdam,  a  brilliant  Dutch  naturalist  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  especially  noted  for  his  minute  studies  of  the  viscera, 
and  system  of  injection  of  vessels.  Leuwenhoek,  his  country 
man  and  contemporary,  made  notable  discoveries  with  regard 
to  capillary  circulation  and  the  blood  corpuscles  of  man  and 
animals ;  also  in  botany  and  entomology. 

Winslow,  a  Dane,  but  worked  in  Paris,  and  wrote  on  purely 
descriptive  anatomy.  Eustachius  of  Salerno,  a  brilliant  investi 
gator  of  human  structure,  especially  of  the  ear  and  the  viscera, 
though  less  reputed  than  the  great  Flemish  anatomist  Andreas 
Vesalius,  who  was  persecuted  for  daring  to  teach  the  real  facts 
of  human  anatomy  in  face  of  the  mistaken  authority  of  Galen. 
Heister  was  also  an  anatomist. 

Herman  Boerhaave  (1668-1738),  born  in  Holland  and 
educated  at  the  University  of  Leyden,  to  which  his  name 
and  teachings  later  gave  great  fame.  He  studied  philosophy 
and  medicine  and  became  a  distinguished  practitioner  and 
writer  mainly  on  medical  subjects.  His  character  and  great 
abilities  won  him  great  and  lasting  honors  throughout  Europe. 

Page  105,  note  I.  Natura  semper  sibi  similis  is  an  expres 
sion  of  Malpighi's,  though  here  given  as  the  faith  of  the  great 
Swedish  botanist  and  scholar  who  gave  his  name  to  and  took 
for  his  device  the  delicate  little  twin-flowered  Linnasa  of 
northern  forests  of  the  Old  and  New  Worlds.  Mr.  Emerson 
delighted  to  find  this  rare  flower  among  the  older  woods  near 
Walden. 


NOTES  327 

The  maxim  of  the  broad  and  high-minded  Leibnitz  ( 1 646- 
1715),  Everything  is  for  the  best  in  the  best  of  possible 
worlds,  would  have  recommended  him :  and  his  theory  of 
monads,  each  a  mirror  of  the  universe;  their  effort;  the  con 
tinuity  of  unorganized  and  organized  creation,  and  "pre- 
established  harmony,"  seemed  to  lead  the  way  to  the  Evolu 
tion  doctrines  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Page  108,  note  I.  Oken  and  Goethe  saw  in  the  skull 
a  few  modified  vertebras.  To  Oken  the  whole  trunk  with 
all  its  systems  was  repeated  in  the  head  with  due  modifica 
tions. 

Page  IOQ,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson  wrote  in  his  journal 
while  crossing  the  Atlantic  on  his  return  from  Europe  in 

1833:  — 

"  I  believe  in  this  life.  I  believe  it  continues.  As  long  as 
Tarn  here  I  plainly  read  my  duties  as  with  a  pencil  of  fire. 
They  speak  not  of  death.  They  are  woven  of  immortal 
thread." 

The  notion  of  the  plane  of  daemonic  life,  between  those 
of  mortal  and  celestial,  is  told  of  in  the  Symposium  of  Plato, 
and  the  image  is  used  in  the  poem  "  Initial,  Daemonic,  and 
Celestial  Love." 

Page  ill,  note  I.  Dr.  James  J.  Garth  Wilkinson,  "  the 
editor  of  Swedenborg,  the  annotator  of  Fourier,  and  the  cham 
pion  of  Hahnemann,  has  brought  to  physics  and  to  physio 
logy  a  native  vigor  with  a  catholic  perception  of  relations 
equal  to  the  highest  attempts,  and  a  rhetoric  like  the  armory 
of  the  invincible  knights  of  old.  There  is  in  the  action  of  his 
mind  a  long  Atlantic  roll  not  known  except  in  deepest  waters, 
and  only  lacking  what  ought  to  accompany  such  powers,  a 
manifest  centrality."  {English  Traits.} 

Page  112,   note  i.    Among  some  notes  for  a  lecture  on 


328  NOTES 

Swedenborg  is  the  following:  "His  brilliant  treatment  of 
natural  philosophy,  Miltonic,  sensuous." 

Page  112,  note  2.  The  "  flowing  of  nature  "  is  the  old 
doctrine  of  Heracleitus.  The  answer  of  Amasis,  King  of 
Egypt,  is  related  in  "  The  Banquet"  in  Plutarch's  Morals. 

Page  113,  note  I.    Lucretius,  De  Rerum  Natura,  Lib.  L, 

835. 

Page  118,  note  I.  This  paragraph  suggests  some  lines  by 
Samuel  Daniel  which  are  copied  in  Mr.  Emerson's  journal 
of  1830: — 

"  The  recluse  hermit  oft-times  more  doth  know 
Of  the  world's  inmost  wheels  than  worldlings  can. 
As  man  is  of  the  world,  the  heart  of  man 
Is  an  epitome  of  God's  great  book 
Of  creatures,  and  men  need  no  farther  look." 

Also  the  last  verse  in  Emerson's  "  Sphinx  " :  — 

Thorough  a  thousand  voices 
Spoke  the  universal  dame  : 
"  Who  telleth  one  of  my  meanings 
Is  master  of  all  I  am. ' ' 

Page  120,  note  I.  In  the  Timteus  it  is  told  that  Solon 
heard  from  Egyptian  priests  this  account  of  the  great  Athe 
nians  of  the  first  State,  which  was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake 
thousands  of  years  earlier. 

Page  121,  note  I.  In  the  journal  of  1845  Mr.  Emerson 
made  these  notes,  headed  Symbolism,  the  first  paragraph 
referring  to  a  lady  visiting  occasionally  in  Concord,  whose 
singing  always  pleased  him.  He  had  little  ear  for  musical 
nrtes,  but  much  for  expressive  rendering. 

'  B.  R.'s  music  taught  us  what  song  should  be;  how  slight 


NOTES  329 

and  thin  its  particular  meaning ;  you  would  not  be  hard  and 
emphatic  on  the  burden  of  a  song,  as  tira-lira,  etc.,  Lilli- 
bulero,  etc. 

"  The  world  is  enigmatical,  everything  said  and  everything 
known  and  done,  and  must  not  be  taken  literally,  but  genially. 
We  must  be  at  the  top  of  our  condition  to  understand  any 
thing  rightly." 

Page  122,  note  i.  Before  the  passage  which  follows  in 
the  text,  I  find  in  some  stray  leaves  about  Swedenborg  these 
sentences : — 

"  The  fascination  which  his  mind  has  for  those  bred  in  the 
old  churches,  in  woeful  Calvinism,  in  sentimental  Christianism, 
is  this,  that  they  come  to  a  mind  which  believes  the  world 
has  a  meaning,  a  meaning  that  can  be  known,  and  which  the 
good  only  can  know.  Swedenborg  is  to  furnish  a  key  to  the 
eternal  and  universal  engine,  an  explanation  of  the  sky,  of 
the  sea,  of  their  tenants,  of  our  doing  and  suffering,  of  our 
weapons  and  means.  What  !  and  no  longer  to  receive  certain 
cold  results  from  catechism  and  priest,  but  I  am  to  be  a  party 
to  every  result  by  seeing  its  reason  and  these  results  are  no 
longer  remote  at  arm's  length,  at  life's  length." 

Page  124,  note  I.  Among  fragmentary  notes  for  a  lecture 
are  these  with  reference  to  the  Swedenborgian  sect :  — 

"  What  I  mean  by  popular  religion  the  Swedenborgians 
have  not  conceived,  but  it  is  true  that  who  would  see  truly 
must  forsake  a  great  as  well  as  a  little  conventionalism;  that 
of  Christendom  as  well  as  that  of  his  parish. ' ' 

"  Fascination  of  Swedenborg. 

"  I  cannot  flatter  the  Swedenborgian  by  finding  in  him  any 
resemblance  to  the  genius  and  tendency  of  the  great  man 
whose  name  he  bears." 

«'  Very  dangerous  study  to  any  but  a  mind  of  great  elasticity 


330  NOTES 

and  power.  Like  Napoleon  as  military  leader,  a  master  of 
such  extraordinary  extent  of  Nature  and  not  to  be  acted  on 
by  any  other,  that  he  must  needs  be  a  god  to  the  young  and 
enthusiastic." 

"  Exceeding  good  behavior  of  the  Sect  a  few  years  ago: 
he  was  pilloried  in  a  pamphlet  of  garbled  extracts :  —  the 
Swedenborgians  circulated  his  book." 

"  Their  excellent  spirit  of  superior  tactics  —  nothing  vulgar 
in  their  propagandism ;  they  treated  men  respectfully  and  had 
the  manners  of  people  holding  valuable  truth." 

Page  12^,  note  I.  Casella,  Dante's  friend,  the  beautiful 
singer,  whom  meeting,  in  Purgatory,  he  besought  to  sing. 
Casella  began  Amor  che  nella  mente  mi  ragiona,  and  all  the 
souls  flocked  to  hear. 

Page  129,  note  I.  The  poems  "  Give  All  to  Love  "  and 
«'  To  Rhea  "  are  in  this  strain,  and  also  the  verses  "You 
shall  not  love  me  for  what  daily  spends,"  etc.,  among  the 
"Fragments  on  Life  "  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Poems. 

Page  132,  note  i. 

MANUSCRIPT  NOTES  FOR  LECTURE  ON  SWEDENBORG. 

"  Beware  of  interference.  Direct  service  the  God  reserves 
to  himself.  The  condition  of  greatness,  that  is  of  health,  is 
poise ;  and  reception  only  from  the  Soul ;  illustration  from 
men,  but  reception  only  from  God  through  Self.  Every  strong 
individual  is  tyrannical  —  Swedenborg,  Luther,  Mahomet, 
Moses;  and  the  Mahometsof  our  own  acquaintance.  Appease 
them  whilst  they  are  with  you,  bow  and  assent,  if  you  cannot 
answer;  but  when  they  have  taken  their  hats,  as  thou  livest, 
recover  thy  erectness.  No  matter  what  they  say  about  their 
credentials  from  God  —  tell  them  it  is  all  gammon,  self-delusion 
and  a  lie;  that  God  never  speaks  by  a  third  person,  for  he  is 


NOTES  331 

nearer  than  the  nearest.  You  exist  from  him.  It  is  as  if  some 
one  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  planet  to  tell  me  what  I 
thought.  We  inhabit  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  planes.  Go 
home  now  to  thy  closet,  to  thy  heart,  to  Being,  and  Sweden - 
borgize.  Go,  that  is,  and  sit  and  ascertain  what  truth  of  you 
this  man  fantastically  said,  but  yet  said,  and  subtract  what  vast 
amounts  of  individualism  have  mixed  with  that  pure  universal- 
ism  that  is  yours  as  well  as  his,  neither  yours  nor  his,  but 
Being's." 

Page  133,  note  I.  Journal,  1838.  "  Swedenborgianism  is 
one  of  the  many  forms  of  Manichasism.  It  denies  the  omni 
presence  of  God  or  pure  Spirit." 

Journal,  1839.  "  The  Swedenborgian  violates  the  old  law 
of  rhetoric  and  philosophy  Nee  deus  inter  sit  dignus  nisi  vindici 
nodus  in  its  forcible  interposing  of  a  squadron  of  angels  for  the 
transmission  of  thought  from  God  to  man.  I  say  I  think  or  I 
receive,  in  proportion  to  my  obedience,  truth  from  God ;  I 
put  myself  aside,  and  let  him  be.  The  New  Churchman  says, 
—  No,  that  would  kill  you,  if  God  should  directly  shine  into 
you  :  there  is  an  immense  continuity  of  mediation.  As  if  that 
bridged  the  gulf  from  the  infinite  to  the  finite  by  so  much  as 
one  flank.  Would  He  not  kill  the  highest  angel  into  whom 
he  shone  just  as  quick  ?  ' ' 

Page  134,  note  i.  The  manuscript  notes  above  quoted 
furnish  the  following:  "  It  was  impossible  also  for  this  gifted 
man  to  say  one  word  of  God. ' ' 

And  of  the  dulness  and  repetition  Mr.  Emerson  goes  on  to 
say,  "  I  hold  him  responsible  for  every  yawn  of  mine,"  and 
"  The  civilest  reader  at  the  tenth  page  says,  «  I  conceive  that 
I  read  something  like  this  once  before.'  ' 

Page  13^,  note  I.  There  is  an  entry  in  the  journal  for  1 841 : 
*'  It  seems  as  if  the  Jewsharp  had  sounded  long  enough." 


332  NOTES 

PaSe  Jj6>  note  !•    One  of  the  examples  of  Laconic  speech 
given  by  Plutarch  in  the  Life  of  Lycurgus. 
Page  ijS,  note  i. 

el  deoi  n  8p£xn  <f>a.v\ov,  OVK  etcriv  6coi. 

More  literally  rendered:  — 

If  gods  do  wrong,  surely  no  gods  they  are. 

Quoted  in  Plutarch's  Morals. 

Page  138,  note  2.  The  verses  in  the  "  Fragments  on  The 
Poet ' '  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Poems  are  suggested  :  — 

Let  me  go  where'er  I  will 

I  hear  a  sky-born  music  still,  etc.; 

and  also  the  lines  in  the  poem  "  Beauty  ":  — 

In  dens  of  passion  and  pits  of  woe, 
He  saw  strong  Eros  struggling  through, 
To  sun  the  dark  and  solve  the  curse, 
And  beam  to  the  bounds  of  the  universe. 

The  quoted  line  below  is  from  Burns' s  poem,  "  Address  to 
the  Deil." 

Page  140,  note  I.  Here  follows  in  his  manuscript  notes 
the  sentence:  "Or,  without  going  to  eminent  examples, 
the  most  eminent,  the  soul  itself,  is  near  enough  to  testify  it 
we  will  hold  the  ear  close  and  listen." 

And  again  a  fragmentary  sheet:  "Into  the  urn  I  put, 
The  Spirit  never  Gossips.  What  we  receive  from  any  man  is 
ever  indirect  truth :  we  learn  him :  we  learn  Swedenborg ; 
and  have  huge  deductions  and  corrections  to  make  in  order  to 
get  pure  truth.  I  admire  it  as  poetry ;  you  wish  I  should  feel 
it  as  fact.  But  who  is  Swedenborg  ?  A  man  who  saw  God 
and  nature  as  he  could  for  a  fluid  moment.  You  cannot  make 


NOTES  333 

an  universal  self  of  him.  My  concern  is  with  the  universal 
truth  of  Plato's  or  Swedenborg's  or  Behmen's  sentences,  not 
at  all  with  their  circumstance  or  vocabulary.  To  seek  too  much 
of  that  were  low  and  gossiping.  He  may  and  must  speak  to 
his  circumstance  and  the  way  of  events  and  belief  around  him, 
to  Christendom  or  Islamism  as  his  birth  befel:  he  may  speak  of 
angels  or  Jews  or  gods  or  Lutherans  or  gypsies,  or  whatever 
figures  come  next  to  hand ;  I  can  readily  enough  translate  his 
rhetoric  into  mine." 

Page  141 ,  note  I.  This  healthy  feeling  of  Emerson's  about 
the  petty  or  besmirching  quality  of  alleged  results  of  prying 
behind  the  great  curtain  is  fully  expressed  in  his  early  paper 
on  "  Demonology  "  which  was  posthumously  published  in 
Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches. 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  present  here  the  letter  received 
by  Mr.  Emerson  from  Mr.  Wilkinson,  the  translator  of 
Swedenborg,  acknowledging  his  gift  of  Representative  Men. 

25  CHURCH  Row,  HAMPSTEAD  [ENGLAND], 

FEB.  5,  1850. 
MY  DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  have  to  thank  you  ...  for  your  Representative  Men, 
read  with  delight  a  month  ago.  It  is  for  me  full  of  vistas  and 
views,  a  regular  exhibition  of  the  optics  of  the  soul.  You  show 
your  men  and  things  by  new  properties  of  light,  hinting  at  all 
kinds  of  polarizations  of  these  through  which  we  see.  .  .  . 
I  am  especially  grateful  to  your  Szvedenborg,  the  Mystic, 
which  to  reverse  will  require  some  tough  work  at  long  arts 
and  sciences.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  there  is  yet  to 
be  a  consideration  of  some  things  that  you  have  dismissed. 
The  spiritual  world  in  the  old  ghostly  and  mythological  sense, 
is  deep  in  man's  heart,  and  not  easily  to  be  shelved.  There 


334  NOTES 

are  facts  about  it  which,  whether  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  mus: 
come  gravely  on  the  carpet  during  the  experimental  ages.  In 
the  presence  of  these,  all  backs  feel  cold  streams,  and  all  hair 
stands  on  end  as  of  yore.  .  .  .  Swedenborg's  allegations  of 
his  intercourse  will,  I  believe,  be  found  to  be  a  genuine  addi 
tion  to  knowledge,  in  no  way  created  by  those  curious  eyes 
which  saw  into  another  life.  But  as  to  any  finality  in  Sweden- 
borg,  I  give  up  the  point  at  once,  and  concede  that  the  spirit 
ual  world  is  not  absolute,  but  fluxional  or  historical,  and  will 
be  found  changed  and  changing  by  each  fresh  traveller.  Still 
I  can  by  no  means  disallow  it  altogether.  .  .  . 

I  need  not  say  what  I  feel  at  your  mention  of  me  in  your 
book.  I  feel  now  thoroughly  hopeless  and  divided;  there  is 
the  little  man  which  is  myself,  and  the  Brocken  shadow  to 
which  people  are  walking  up.  They  will  soon  find  out  the 
truth,  and  say  that  in  one  instance  at  least  you  have  too  kindly 
believed  in  a  shadow. 

Yours  most  truly, 

J.  J.  G.  WILKINSON. 

Page  143,  note  i.  As  an  instance  of  the  sweet  and  whole 
some  way  in  which  Behmen  looks  at  man  and  nature  Mr.  Emer 
son  says  in  the  journal,  speaking  of  "  this  era  of  triviality  and 
verbiage:  "  "  Once  « the  rose  of  Sharon  perfumed  our  graves,' 
as  Behmen  said:  but  now,  if  a  man  dies,  it  is  like  a  grave  dug 
in  the  snow  ;  it  is  a  ghastly  fact  abhorrent  to  nature,  and  we 
never  mention  it.  Death  is  as  natural  as  life  and  should  be  as 
sweet  and  graceful." 

Page  145,  note  i .  From  a  poem  by  Nathaniel  P.  Willis 
called  "  Lines  on  Leaving  Europe,"  in  which  he  thus  ex 
presses  his  assurance  of  his  safe  return  across  the  ocean  because 
of  his  waiting  mother's  love  and  faith. 


NOTES  335 

Page  145,  note  2.  It  is  worth  while  to  note  Mr.  Emer 
son's  steady  allegiance  to  the  supremacy  of  right  in  contrast 
ing  this  final  weighing  of  Swedenborg  in  the  balance  and  not 
finding  him  wanting  in  what  was  greatest,  while  of  Goethe 
he  says:  "  He  has  not  worshipped  the  highest  Unity.  He  is 
incapable  of  a  self-surrender  to  the  moral  sentiment.  .  .  . 
Goethe  can  never  be  dear  to  men.  His  is  ...  devotion  to 
truth  for  the  sake  of  culture."  And  of  Napoleon  he  said: 
"  He  did  all  that  in  him  lay  to  live  and  thrive  without  the 
moral  principle.  ...  It  was  the  nature  of  things,  the  eter 
nal  law  of  man  and  the  world  which  baulked  and  ruined  him, 
and  the  result  in  a  million  experiments  will  be  the  same." 


MONTAIGNE;    OR,    THE    SKEPTIC 

As  he  tells  in  the  Essays,  Mr.  Emerson  made  a  friend  of 
Montaigne  in  his  youth,  —  felt  that  Montaigne,  three  centuries 
earlier,  had,  with  wit  and  frank  courage,  written  of  things  as 
he  himself  would  have  liked  to,  in  boyish  protest  at  timid  ob 
servance  and  decorum.  There  was  obvious  contrast  between 
their  conditions.  The  French  lord,  baptized  into  the  com 
munion  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  bred  to  the  usual  military 
accomplishments,  with  something  of  a  courtier's  experience, 
and  a  student  of  law,  heir  of  a  castle  and  full  feudal  rights, 
and  living  in  troublous  times,  stirred  the  imagination  of  a  deli 
cate  and  studious  youth,  growing  up  well-bred  but  poor  in  the 
very  heart  of  Puritan  simplicity  and  democracy  in  New  Eng 
land.  Yet  there  were  bonds  stronger  than  their  differences, 
—  a  greater  Catholicism,  a  brave  love  of  truth,  and  disgust  at 
cant,  and  desire  to  make  their  protest  freely;  a  human  way 


336  NOTES 

of  looking  at  men  and  things  and  the  teaching  of  each  day, 
a  love  of  wild  nature  and  the  independence  and  retirement  of  a 
country  householder,  —  these,  and  their  common  love  of  Plato 
and  of  Plutarch.  As  to  writing,  Emerson's  word  in  his  jour 
nal  about  Montaigne  was  true  of  himself:  "  Montaigne  or 
Socrates  would  quote  Paul  of  Tarsus  and  Goody  Two-shoes 
with  equal  willingness." 

During  the  time  of  his  Boston  ministry,  on  Christmas  day, 
1831,  he  wrote  to  his  Aunt  Mary,  who  eagerly  followed  her 
nephews'  reading  and  discussed  it  with  them :  — 

"  No  effeminate  parlor  workman  is  he  on  an  idea  got  at  an 
evening  lecture  or  a  young  men's  debate,  but  roundly  tells 
what  he  saw  or  what  he  thought  of  when  he  was  riding  on 
horseback  or  entertaining  a  troop  at  his  chateau.  A  gross, 
semi-savage  indecency  debases  his  book,  and  ought  doubtless 
to  turn  it  out  of  doors,  but  the  robustness  of  his  sentiments, 
the  generosity  of  his  judgment,  the  downright  truth  without 
fear  or  favor,  I  do  embrace  with  both  arms.  It  is  wild  and 
savory  as  sweet-fern.  Henry  the  Eighth  loved  to  see  a  man ; 
and  it  is  exhilarating  once  in  a  while  to  come  across  a  genuine 
Saxon  stump,  a  wild,  virtuous  man,  who  knows  books,  but 
gives  them  their  right  place,  lower  than  his  reason.  Books  are 
apt  to  turn  reason  out  of  doors.  You  find  men  talking  every 
where  from  their  memories  instead  of  from  their  understand 
ing.  If  I  stole  this  thought  from  Montaigne,  as  is  very  likely, 
I  don't  care.  I  should  have  said  the  same  myself." 

Later,  in  his  journal,  appreciating  the  brave,  out-of-door, 
half-military  aspect  of  the  man,  he  notes,  "We  can't  afford  to 
fake  the  horse  out  of  Montaigne's  Essays."  Again,  valuing 
Montaigne's  solid  basis,  he  writes:  "Montaigne  has  the  de 
quoi  which  the  French  cherubs  had  not  when  the  courteous, 
archbishop  implored  them  to  sit  down."  In  the  story  the 


NOTES  337 

kind  prelate  said,  Asseyez  vous,  mes  enfans,  and  the  fluttering 
cherubs  answered,  Monseigneur,  nous  n' avons  pas  de  quoi. 

In  his  first  summer  in  Concord  after  he  made  it  his  home, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-two,  Mr.  Emerson  made  this  entry  in  his 
journal :  — 

8th  AUGUST  [1835]. 

Yesterday  I  delighted  myself  with  Michel  de  Montaigne. 
With  all  my  heart  I  embrace  the  grand  old  sloven.  He 
pricks  and  stings  the  sense  of  virtue  in  me,  the  wild  gentile 
stock,  I  mean,  for  he  has  no  Grace.  But  his  panegyric  of 
Cato  and  of  Socrates  in  his  essay  On  Cruelty  (vol.  ii.)  do 
wind  up  again  for  us  the  spent  springs,  and  make  virtue  possi 
ble  without  the  discipline  of  Christianity ;  or  rather  do  shame 
her  of  her  eye-service  and  put  her  upon  her  honor.  I  read 
the  Essays  in  Defence  of  Seneca  and  Plutarch;  On  Books; 
On  Drunkenness;  and  On  Cruelty.  And  at  some  fortunate 
line,  which  I  cannot  now  recall,  the  spirit  of  some  Plutarch 
hero  or  sage  touched  mine  with  such  thrill  as  the  war-trump 
makes  in  Talbot's  ear  and  blood. 

Eight  years  later  he  writes :  — 

"  I  once  took  so  much  delight  in  Montaigne,  that  I  thought 
I  should  not  need  any  other  book ;  then  in  Plotinus,  in  Syne- 
sius,  in  Goethe,  —  even  in  Bettini ;  but  to-day  I  turn  the 
pages  of  either  of  them  languidly  enough,  whilst  I  still  cherish 
their  genius.  ...  It  is  too  strong  for  us,  this  onward  trick 
of  Nature.  Pero  si  muove, ' ' 

Two  months  after  tne  above  entry,  Mr.  Emerson  said  in 
a  letter  written  to  his  young  friend  Henry  Thoreau,  then 
teaching  in  his  brother  William  Emerson's  family  in  Staten 
Island :  — 

«'  We  have  had  the  new  Hazlitt's  Montaigne  which  con- 

IV 


338  NOTES 

tained  the  'Journey  to  Italy,'  new  to  me,  and  the  narrative 
of  the  death  of  the  renowned  friend  Etienne  de  la  Boece." 

Page  149,  note  i.  This  image  of  the  two-facedness  of 
things  is  used  to  a  different  purpose  in  Emerson's  poem  "  The 
Chartist's  Complaint,"  originally  entitled  "Janus."  But  in 
almost  every  essay,  though  sometimes  in  separate  essays,  his 
own  habit  is  to  contemplate  one  facet  of  a  truth  at  a  time,  and 
then,  often  abruptly,  go  to  another  point  of  view. 

Page  150,  note  I.  "  Aristotle,  founding  on  the  qualities 
of  matter,  is  the  European  skeptic,  Plato  the  believer. "  (  Jour 
nal,  1845.) 

Page  150,  note  2.  Strangely  in  contrast  with  this  attitude 
of  the  timid  or  intolerant  man  of  the  gown  was  Mr.  Emer 
son's  own  interested,  respectful,  and  often  admiring  attitude 
towards  the  man  of  deeds,  whether  laborer,  mechanic,  mer 
chant,  or  statesman. 

Page  151,  note  I.  This  recalls  the  first  lines  of  Michael 
Angelo's  sonnet  to  Vittoria  Colonna  translated  by  Emerson:  — 

Never  did  sculptor's  dream  unfold 

A  form  which  marble  doth  not  hold 

In  its  white  block ;  yet  it  therein  shall  find 

Only  the  hand  secure  and  bold 

Which  still  obeys  the  mind. 

Poems,  Translations. 

Page  152,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson,  on  his  way  to  town 
meeting,  saw  his  honest  neighbor  George  Minot,  a  farmer 
and  pot-hunter,  at  work,  and  asked  him  if  he  were  not  going 
to  cast  his  vote  for  Freedom,  in  the  sad  days  of  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Law.  "No,"  said  Minot,  "  I  ain't  a-goin'.  It 's  no 
use  a-ballotin',  for  it  won't  stay  so.  What  you  do  with  a 
gun  '11  stay." 


NOTES  339 

Page  154,  note  i.  This  was  the  remark  of  his  next  neign- 
bor  on  the  other  side,  a  laborer. 

Page  155,  note  I.  Here  come  in  favorite  images:  that 
the  planet  is  bearing  its  solidest  materialists,  helpless,  whither 
they  know  not,  at  frightful  speed  through  stellar  space,  drugged 
and  cheated  by  the  illusions  of  the  senses  which  they  cannot 
interpret,  the  Maia  of  the  Oriental  philosophers. 

PaSe  T55>  note  2'  These  lines  are  borrowed  from  George 
Herbert's  poem  entitled  "Affliction."  When  a  youth  he 
longed  to  leave  Cambridge  University,  but  his  mother  would 
not  permit  him  to  do  so. 

"  Whereas  my  birth  and  spirit  rather  took 

The  way  that  takes  to  town: 
Thou  didst  betray  me  to  a  lingering  book, 

And  wrapt  me  in  a  gown: 
I  was  entangled  in  a  world  of  strife; 
Before  I  had  the  power  to  change  my  life." 

Page  136,  note  i.  Here  is  a  momentary  indulgence  at  the 
expense  of  Mr.  Emerson's  long-sitting  reformer  visitors,  from 
the  journal  of  I  842,  yet  showing  a  magnanimity  to  the  borers 
which  he  was  fighting  on  his  peach-trees  in  those  days. 

"  The  borer  on  our  peach-trees  bores  that  she  may  deposit 
an  egg ;  but  the  borer  into  theories  and  institutions  and  books, 
bores  that  he  may  bore." 

P0ge  !57>  note  i"  Mr.  Emerson  recognized  Nature's 
secret  of  Identity  through  all  fugitive  forms  in  the  fable  of  the 
sea-god  Proteus,  who,  when  caught  sleeping  by  a  mortal,  took 
shapes  of  beasts,  of  serpents,  of  fire,  to  disconcert  his  captor, 
yet,  if  held  fast  in  spite  of  all,  must  answer  his  questions. 

Page  158,  note  I.  It  will  be  remembered  that  this  book 
was  written  at  the  end  of  a  decade  which  had  witnessed  an 


340  NOTES 

extraordinary  awakening  in  the  minds  and  consciences  of  New 
England  people  and  their  neighbors.  Mr.  Emerson's  papers 
on  "The  Times,"  "  The  Transcendentalist,"  "New  Eng 
land  Reformers  ' '  in  Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures,  and  his 
"Historical  Notes  of  Life  and  Letters  in  New  England" 
in  Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches  bear  witness  to  the 
ferments  that  were  at  work  on  the  questions  of  Emancipation, 
Temperance,  Non- Resistance,  Communities,  Labor,  as  well 
as  in  Religion,  Education,  and  Literature. 

Page  162,  note  I.  The  following  passage  is  copied  from 
some  stray  leaves  of  the  lecture  on  Montaigne:  — 

"  Talent  without  character  is  friskiness.  The  charm  of 
Montaigne's  egotism,  and  of  his  anecdotes,  is,  that  there  is  a 
stout  cavalier,  a  seigneur  of  France,  at  home  in  his  chateau, 
responsible  for  all  this  chatting. 

"  Now  suppose  it  should  be  shown  and  proved  that  the 
famous  « Essays '  were  a  jeu  a" 'esprit  of  Scaliger,  or  other 
scribacious  person,  written  for  the  booksellers,  and  not  resting 
on  a  real  status  picturesque  in  the  eyes  of  all  men.  Would 
not  the  book  instantly  lose  almost  all  its  value  ?  ' ' 

Page  163,  note  i.  The  brilliant  John  Sterling,  with  whom 
Emerson  formed  a  strong  friendship  through  correspondence 
due  at  first  to  their  common  affection  for  Carlyle.  They 
never  met,  for  Sterling  died  in  1844.  In  his  journal  for  1843 
Mr.  Emerson  records,  almost  in  the  same  words  as  here,  his 
pleasure,  when  a  boy,  in  Cotton's  Montaigne  and  his  visit  to 
Pere  Lachaise  and  of  reading  Sterling's  "  loving  criticism  on 
Montaigne  in  the  Westminster  Review,"  adding,  "  and  soon 
after,  Carlyle  writes  me  word  that  this  same  lover  of  Mon 
taigne  is  a  lover  of  me.  Now  I  have  been  introducing  to  his 
genius  two  of  my  friends,  James  and  Tappan,  who  warm  to 


NOTES  341 

him  as  to  a  brother.  So  true  is  S.  G.  W.'s  saying  that  all 
whom  he  knew  met."  Sterling's  biography  was  written 
both  by  Archdeacon  Hare,  who  edited  his  works,  and  by  Car- 
lyle.  His  Correspondence  with  Emerson  was  published  in 
1897. 

Page  163,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson  drew  this  contrast  be 
tween  Montaigne  and  Plutarch  in  his  essay  on  the  latter, 
printed  in  Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches  :  — 

"  Plutarch  had  a  religion,  which  Montaigne  wanted,  and 
which  defends  him  from  wantonness ;  and,  though  Plutarch 
is  as  plain-spoken,  his  moral  sentiment  is  always  pure." 

Page  166,  note  i.  Had  Montaigne  been  a  living,  instead 
of  a  dead  friend,  Mr.  Emerson's  tolerance  would  have  been 
sorely  strained  by  this  habit,  and  he  would  have  wished  to 
counsel  him  that  "there  is  one  topic  peremptorily  forbidden 
to  all  well-bred,  to  all  rational  mortals,  namely,  their  distem 
pers,"  as  he  tells  at  large  as  a  final  word  of  advice  in  the  essay 
on  "  Behavior  "  in  Conduct  of  Life, 

Page  166,  note  2.  Miss  Edgeworth's  stories  for  children  are 
so  little  read  in  this  generation  that  it  may  be  well  to  say  that 
Old  Poz  was  a  character  who  bore  this  nickname  because  he 
was  positive  of  his  knowledge  on  all  topics. 

Page  168,  note  I,  In  the  journal  for  1840  are  the  follow 
ing  sentences  continuous  with  the  foregoing  passage:  — 

"  I  know  nobody  among  my  contemporaries  except  Carlyle 
who  writes  with  any  sinew  and  vivacity  comparable  to  Plu 
tarch  and  Montaigne.  Yet  always  the  profane  swearing  and 
bar-room  wit  has  salt  and  fire  in  it.  I  cannot  now  read 
Webster's  speeches.  Fuller  and  Browne  and  Milton  are 
quick,  but  the  list  is  soon  ended.  Goethe  seems  to  be  well 
alive,  no  pedant:  Luther  too." 

Page  172,  note  i.    In  the  journal  he  tells  of  "  a  walk  to 


342  NOTES 

the  river  with  [a  friend]  and  saw  the  moon  interrogating, 
interrogating."  The  skeptic  considered  as  a  man  in  "  the 
vestibule  of  the  temple,"  suggests  what  has  been  said  by  Pro 
fessor  Weber  of  Strasburg  on  the  doubts  of  Descartes  as  "  a 
provisional  skepticism,  a  means  which  he  hastens  to  abandon 
as  soon  as  he  has  discovered  a  certain  primary  truth. ' '  Dubito 
ut  intelligam. 

Page  174,  note  I.  The  valued  friend  here  alluded  to, 
Mr.  Charles  K.  Newcomb,  was  of  a  sensitive  and  beautiful 
character,  a  mystic,  but  with  the  Hamlet  temperament  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  was  paralyzed  for  all  action  by  the 
tenderness  of  his  conscience  and  the  power  with  which  all 
sides  of  a  question  presented  themselves  to  him  in  turn.  He 
was  a  member  of  the  Brook  Farm  Community,  a  welcome  but 
rare  visitor  at  Mr.  Emerson's  house,  and  when  he  came  he 
brought  his  writings,  which  interested  his  host  greatly.  I 
think  they  never  came  to  publication,  except  a  few  papers  in 
the  Dial.  His  sense  of  duty  sent  him  to  the  war  for  the 
Union  in  the  ranks.  He  remained  a  bachelor  all  his  life  and 
in  his  last  years  lived  much  abroad. 

Page  174,  note  2.  The  last  passage  appears  in  the  journal 
for  1845  thus:  — 

"Skepticism  and  gulfs  of  skepticism;  strongest  of  all,  that 
of  the  Saints.  They  come  to  the  mount,  and  in  the  largest 
and  most  blissful  communication  to  them,  somewhat  is  left 
unsaid,  which  begets  in  them  doubt  and  horrible  doubt.  So 
then,  say  they,  before  they  have  yet  risen  from  their  knees, 
Even  this  does  not  justify:  we  must  still  feel  that  this  our 
homage  and  beatitude  is  partial  and  deformed.  We  must  fly 
for  relief  and  sanity  to  that  other  suspected  and  reviled  part 
of  nature,  the  kingdom  of  the  understanding,  the  gymnastics 
of  talent,  the  play  of  fancy." 


NOTES  343 

Page  175,  note  I.  Here  appears  the  cause  which  all  his 
life  he  stood  for,  —  The  Church  against  the  churches. 

Page  177,  note  I.    Compare  in  the  poem  "  Voluntaries  " 

Fate's  grass  grows  rank  in  valley  clods, 
And  rankly  on  the  castled  steep. 

Page  177,  note  2.  His  method  of  dealing  with  these  for 
midable  doubts  in  the  following  pages  is  characteristic  of  the 
man;  no  attempt  at  dogmatically  solving  the  question  for  all, 
but  throwing  of  side-lights  here  and  there,  suggestive  perhaps 
to  other  minds  both  of  the  magnitude  of  the  problem,  and  how 
to  approach  it  in  their  own  way.  Among  many  of  his  sayings 
on  the  subject  of  Indirection  these  may  serve  as  specimens: 
"  In  good  society  —  say  among  the  angels  in  Heaven  —  is  not 
everything  spoken  by  indirection."  "If  we  could  speak  the 
direct  solving  speech  it  would  solve  us  too." 

Page  180,  note  I.  Journal,  1845.  "There  are  many 
skepticisms.  The  universe  is  like  an  infinite  series  of  planes, 
each  of  which  is  a  false  bottom,  and  when  we  think  our  feet 
are  planted  now  at  last  on  the  adamant,  the  slide  is  drawn 
out  from  under  us. 

"  Value  of  the  skeptic  is  the  resistance  to  premature  conclu 
sions.  If  he  prematurely  conclude,  his  conclusion  will  be 
shattered,  and  he  will  become  malignant.  But  he  must  limit 
himself  with  the  anticipation  of  law  in  the  mutations,  —  flow 
ing  law." 

Page  182,  note  I.  This  paragraph  is  exactly  a  case  of  Mr. 
Emerson's  holding  the  mirror  to  his  characters  at  just  such  an 
angle  that  you  see  something  of  his  own  face  too,  as  Dr. 
Holmes  said.  His  ecclesiastical  sin  had  been,  in  Dr.  Bartol's 
words,  his  excess  of  spirituality,  and  all  sorts  of  well-meaning 
men  were  wishing  him  to  spend  himself  on  details  and  partial 


344  NOTES 

reforms  while  he  was  trying  to  hear  and  transmit  the  universal 
laws.  He  has  honestly  endeavored  in  this  essay  to  state  the 
difficult  problems  fully  and  clearly,  not  "  Sunday  objections 
made  up  on  purpose  to  be  put  down."  But,  after  all,  he  be 
longs  to  the  minds  that  are  made  "  incapable  of  skepticism," 
"a  man  of  thought  who  must  feel  the  thought  which  is  par 
ent  to  the  Universe." 

Page  l8j,  note  i.  About  the  time  when  Mr.  Emerson 
was  parting  from  his  church  he  was  reading  with  great  plea 
sure  the  life  of  George  Fox,  the  founder  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  and  making  many  extracts  from  it  in  his  journal. 
The  simple  worship  of  the  Quakers  and  their  obedience  to  the 
moving  Spirit  always  recommended  them  to  him. 

Page  iSj,  note  2.    In  an  early  journal  is  this  entry:  — 
"  Fools  and  clowns  and  sots  make  the  fringe  of  every  one's 
tapestry  of  life  and  give  a  certain  reality  to  the  picture.    What 
could  we  do  in   Concord   without   Bigelow's  and  Wesson's 
bar-rooms  and  their  dependencies  ?    What  without  such   fix 
tures  as  Uncle  Sol  and  old  Moore,  who  sleeps  in  Dr.  Kurd's 
barn,  and  the  red  Charity-house  over   the  brook  ?    Tragedy 
and  Comedy  go  ever  hand  in  hand." 
And  again  in  "  The  Poet  "  :  — 

He,  foolish  child, 
A  facile,  reckless,  wandering  will, 
Eager  for  good,  not  hating  ill, 
Thanked  Nature  for  each  stroke  she  dealt; 
On  his  tense  chords  all  strokes  were  felt, 
The  good,  the  bad  with  equal  zeal, 
He  asked,  he  only  asked,  to  feel. 
Timid,  self- pleasing,  sensitive, 
With  Gods,  with  fools,  content  to  live. 

Poems,  Appendix. 


NOTES  345 

Page  184,  note  I.  This  thought  appears  in  his  poem 
"The  Day's  Ration." 

Page  186,  note  I.  In  the  «« Woodnotes,"  II.,  the  pine- 
tree  sings  — 

Of  tendency  through  endless  ages. 

Page  1 86,  note  2.  A  line  that  he  valued  most  of  those  of 
the  poet  Channing,  his  friend,  from  "  A  Poet's  Hope." 

There  is  a  summary,  not  appearing  in  the  essay  in  the 
journal  of  1845,  perhaps  obscure  in  its  ending,  but  interest 
ing.  The  "  cowage  "  of  the  first  sentence  was  an  herb  which 
used  to  be  prescribed  for  intestinal  worms,  and  acted,  not  as 
a  poison,  but  by  piercing  them  with  its  sharp  fibres. 

"  Montaigne  good  against  bigots  as  cowage  against  worms, 
acts  mechanically. 

«*  But  there  is  a  higher  Muse  there,  sitting  where  he  durst 
not  soar,  a  muse  that  follows  the  flowing  power,  a  Dialectic 
that  respects  results:  and  it  requires  a  muse,  as  Hafiz  ex 
presses  himself  only  in  musical  phrases,  the  hyphens  are  small 
unities,  not  parts." 


SHAKSPEARE  ;  OR,  THE  POET 

This  essay  was  read  as  a  lecture  in  Exeter  Hall,  in  London, 
in  June,  1848. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  Mr.  Emerson  was 
reared  for  the  ministry  and  ordained  a  clergyman,  and  that  his 
ancestors  for  several  generations  had  exercised  that  office,  and 
moreover  that,  in  New  England,  up  to  his  day,  theatrical 
representations  had  been  looked  at  with  disfavor  by  serious 
and  God-fearing  people,  and  the  witnessing  of  such  by  a  min- 


346  NOTES 

ister  would,  like  dancing,  have  been  considered  unbecoming 
indulgence.  Although  Mr.  Emerson  emancipated  himself 
from  bonds  that  were  merely  professional  or  artificial,  he  had 
an  inbred  distaste  for  the  common  amusements  of  society, 
feeling  that  they  were  unbecoming  to  a  scholar,  and  that  he 
was  not  adapted  for  them,  though  he  was  tolerant  of  them  in 
other  people.  There  was  a  natural  earnestness,  and  a  simple 
and  cheerful  asceticism  in  his  early  and  later  life.  Yet  once 
in  his  later  life,  when  he  had  been  induced  to  go  to  see  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Barney  Williams  in  some  bright  comedy,  he  praised 
their  acting  and  admitted  to  his  daughter  that  he  really  much 
enjoyed  theatrical  performances,  in  spite  of  the  feeling  that 
they  were  not  for  him.  Dancing,  for  instance,  which  he  con 
sidered  a  proper  part  of  youths'  education,  would  have  seemed 
unbecoming  for  himself.  He  says,  "  It  shall  be  writ  in  my 
memoirs  ...  as  it  was  writ  of  St.  Pachonius,  Pes  ejus  ad 
saltandum  non  est  commotus  omni  vita  sua."  His  staying  away 
from  theatrical  entertainments  was  instinctive,  but  he  was  lib 
eral  in  the  matter  and  would  go  to  see  a  real  artist.  He  even 
went  to  see  the  performance  of  the  beautiful  dancer  Fanny 
Elssler,  although  a  story  which  has  been  too  often  repeated 
of  his  remarks  to  Margaret  Fuller  on  the  subject  is  as  false  as 
it  is  silly. 

In  Paris  he  saw  Rachel  during  the  Revolution  of  1848, 
and  often  told  his  children  of  her  fierce  and  splendid  declama 
tion  of  the  Marseillaise  in  the  theatre,  holding  the  tricolor 
aloft.  On  London  in  that  same  year  he  wrote  of  seeing 
Macready  in  Lear,  with  Mrs.  Butler  as  Cordelia.  It  was  usu 
ally  to  see  one  of  Shakspeare's  heroes  rendered  by  some  master 
that  he  went,  and  probably  he  never  was  inside  a  theatre 
twenty  times  in  his  life,  and,  so  sensitive  was  he  to  bad  taste 
or  ranting,  that  he  was  usually  sorry  that  he  had  gone. 


NOTES  347 

The  rendering  of  Richard  II.  (I  cannot  remember  by 
whom)  more  than  satisfied  him,  and  he  liked  to  recall  the  act 
or's  tones  in  reading  this  play,  an  especial  favorite  of  his,  to  his 
children.  Coriolanus  and  Julius  Casar  too  he  enjoyed  reading 
to  them,  and  he  selected  passages  from  Shakspeare  for  them 
and  trained  them  very  carefully  for  their  recitation  in  school. 

He  saw  Edwin  Booth  in  Boston,  and  met  him  later  at  the 
house  of  a  friend  and  had  some  talk  with  him.  Booth  later 
mentioned  with  pleasure  to  their  host  the  fact  that  Mr.  Emer 
son  had  not  once  alluded  to  his  profession  or  performance  in 
their  conversation. 

Mr.  Emerson  once  defined  the  cultivated  man  as  "one 
who  can  tell  you  something  new  and  true  about  Shakspeare. ' ' 
And  he  read  a  good  omen  for  our  age  in  Shakspeare 's  accept 
ance:  "  The  book  only  characterizes  the  reader.  Is  Shak 
speare  the  delight  of  the  nineteenth  century  ?  That  fact  only 
shows  whereabouts  we  are  in  the  ecliptic  of  the  soul." 

In  writing  of  Great  Men  in  1838  in  his  journal,  he  says:  — 

«'  Swedenborg  is  scarce  yet  appreciable.  Shakspeare  has, 
for  the  first  time,  in  our  time  found  adequate  criticism,  if 
indeed  he  have  yet  found  it:  —  Coleridge,  Lamb,  Schlegel, 
Goethe,  Very,  Herder. 

"  The  great  facts  of  history  are  four  or  five  names,  Homer 
-—Phidias  —  Jesus — Shakspeare.  One  or  two  names  more 
I  will  not  add,  but  see  what, these  names  stand  for.  All  civil 
history  and  all  philosophy  consists  of  endeavours  more  or  less 
vain  to  explain  these  persons." 

In  the  journal  for  1843  he  writes:  "Plato  is  weak  inas 
much  as  he  is  literary.  Shakspeare  is  not  literary,  but  the 
strong  earth  itself. ' '  Yet  from  another  point  of  view  he  writes, 
"  Shakspeare  and  Plato  each  sufficed  for  the  culture  of  a  na 
tion." 


348  NOTES 

That  Shakspeare  and  Milton  should  have  been  born  meant 
much  to  him  and  to  mankind.  "  Who  saw  Milton,  who  saw 
Shakspeare,  saw  them  do  their  best,  and  utter  their  whole 
heart  manlike  among  their  contemporaries." 

And  again,  "  No  man  can  be  named  whose  mind  still  acts 
on  the  cultivated  intellect  of  England  and  America  with  an 
energy  comparable  to  that  of  Milton.  As  a  poet,  Shakspeare 
undoubtedly  transcends  and  far  surpasses  him  in  his  popularity 
with  foreign  nations:  but  Shakspeare  is  a  voice  merely:  who 
and  what  he  was  that  sang,  that  sings,  we  know  not." 

Page  189,  note  I.    Mr.  Emerson  said  of  Nature:  — 

No  ray  is  dimmed,  no  atom  worn, 

My  oldest  force  is  good  as  new, 

And  the  fresh  rose  on  yonder  thorn 

Gives  back  the  bending  heavens  in  dew;  — 

and  her  cheerful  lesson  for  the  artist  or  poet  was  that  he  too 
could  forever  re-combine  the  old  material  into  fresh  and  splen 
did  pictures.  He  rejoiced  that  "  the  poet  is  permitted  to  dip 
his  brush  into  the  old  paint-pot  with  which  birds,  flowers, 
the  human  cheek,  the  living  rock,  the  broad  landscape,  the 
ocean  and  the  eternal  sky  were  painted,"  and  turning  from 
the  reading  of  the  plays  he  says:  ««  'T  is  Shakspeare' s  fault 
that  the  world  appears  so  empty.  He  has  educated  you  with 
his  painted  world,  and  this  real  one  seems  a  huckster' s-shop." 
Again  as  to  his  true  rendering  of  men's  characters,  "I  value 
Shakspeare  as  a  metaphysician  and  admire  the  unspoken  logic 
which  upholds  the  structure  of  lago,  Macbeth,  Antony  and 
the  rest." 

Page  IQO,  note  I.  Again  the  ancient  doctrine  of  the  Flow 
ing,  and  the  modern  onward  and  upward  stream  of  Evolu 
tion. 


NOTES  349 

Page  191,  note  I. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned. 

"  The  Problem,"  Poems. 

Page  IQ2,  note  i.  The  stage  was  to  Shakspeare  his  op 
portunity,  as  the  Lyceum  was  to  Emerson. 

Page  ip6,  note  i.    Henry  VIII.,  Act  V.,  Scene  iv. 

Page  I<p6,  note  2.  This  estimate  of  the  value  of  memory 
to  the  poet,  typified  by  the  Greeks  in  their  making  the  Muses 
the  daughters  of  Mnemosyne,  is  enlarged  upon  in  the  Essay 
on  "  Memory  "  in  Natural  History  of  Intellect.  Mr.  Emer 
son  said  once,  "  Of  the  most  romantic  fact  the  memory  is 
more  romantic,"  and  he  quotes  Quintilian  as  saying,  Quan 
tum  ingenii,  tantum  memorise. 

Page  197,  *note  I.  In  a  fragment  of  verse  written  in  Mr. 
Emerson's  journal  of  1831  on  the  yearning  of  the  poet  to 
enrich  himself  from  the  Treasury  of  the  Universe,  he  says:  — 

And  if  to  me  it  is  not  given 
To  fetch  one  ingot  thence 
Of  that  unfading  gold  of  Heaven 
His  merchants  may  dispense, 
Yet  well  I  know  the  royal  mine, 

And  know  the  sparkle  of  its  ore, 
Know  Heaven' s  truth  from  lies  that  shine,  — 

Explored,  they  teach  us  to  explore. 
"  Fragments  on  the  Poet,"  Poems,  Appendix. 

Page  197,  note  2.    Milton,  "  II  Penseroso." 
Page  198,  note  I.    Taine,  in  his  History  of  English  Lit 
erature,  thus  justifies  Chaucer's  borrowing  or  rendering:  — 
«« Chaucer  was  capable  of  seeking  out,  in  the  old  common 


350  NOTES 

forest  of  the  middle  ages,  stories  and  legends,  to  replant  them 
in  his  own  soil  and  make  them  send  out  new  shoots.  .  .  . 
He  has  the  right  and  power  of  copying  and  translating  because 
by  dint  of  retouching  he  impresses  ...  his  original  mark. 
He  re-creates  what  he  imitates.  ...  At  the  distance  of  a 
century  and  a  half  he  has  affinity  with  the  poets  of  Elizabeth 
by  his  gallery  of  pictures." 

The  dates  of  Lydgate  and  Caxton  show  a  mistake  as  to  his 
use  of  them.  Caxton,  following  Chaucer,  when  he  introduced 
the  printing-press  to  England,  printed  his  poems  and  those  of 
Lydgate,  who  was  younger  than  Chaucer.  In  his  House  of 
Fame,  Chaucer  places,  in  his  vision,  "  on  a  pillar  higher 
than  the  rest,  Homer  and  Livy,  Dares  the  Phrygian,  Guido 
Colonna,  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  and  the  other  historians  of 
the  war  of  Troy,"  *  a  due  recognition  of  his  debt  for  Troy  /us 
and  Cryseyde.  As  for  Gower,  he  was  Chaucer's  exact  con 
temporary  and  friend,  and  Chaucer  dedicated  this  poem  to 
him. 

Page  199,  note  I.  Kipling  irreverently  tells  of  Homer's 
borrowings  thus:  — 

"  When  'Omer  smote  'is  bloomin'  lyre, 

He  'd  'card  men  sing  by  land  an'  sea  ; 
An'  what  he  thought  'e  might  require, 
'E  went  an'  took  —  the  same  as  me!  " 

And  says  of  his  humble  audience  :  — 

"  They  knew  'e  stole  ;  'e  knew  they  knowed. 

They  did  n't  tell,  nor  make  a  fuss, 
But  winked  at  'Omer  down  the  road, 
An'  'e  winked  back  —  the  same  as  us!  " 

i  Taine's  History  of  English  Literature. 


NOTES  351 

Page  ipp,  note  2,  Dr.  Holmes' s  remark  with  regard  to 
the  preceding  page  is  :  "  The  reason  why  Emerson  has  so 
much  to  say  on  this  subject  of  borrowing,  especially  when 
treating  of  Plato  and  Shakspeare,  is  obvious  enough.  He  was 
arguing  his  own  cause  —  not  defending  himself,"  etc.  In 
Letters  and  Social  Aims,  Mr.  Emerson  discusses  Quotation  and 
Originality. 

Page  2OO,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson  had  tender  associations 
with  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  His  mother  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  Episcopal  communion,  and  the  prayer- 
book  of  her  youth  was  always  by  her,1  though  after  her  mar 
riage  she  attended  her  husband's  church. 

Page  201,  note  I.  Landor  says  of  these  borrowings  of 
Shakspeare,  "  He  breathed  upon  dead  bodies  and  brought 
them  to  life." 

Page  201,  note  2.  The  princes  Ferrex  and  Porrex,  brothers 
and  rivals  for  the  ancient  British  throne,  are  characters  in  the 
tragedy  Gorboduc  by  Norton  and  Sackville,  to  which  the  date 
1561  is  assigned.  Gammer  Gurton1  s  Needle  is  a  comedy  of 
the  same  period. 

Page,  202,  note  i.  Journal,  1864.  "Shakspeare  puts  us 
all  out.  No  theory  will  account  for  him.  He  neglected  his 
works,  perchance  he  did  not  know  their  value  ?  Ay,  but  he 
did;  witness  the  sonnets.  He  went  into  company  as  a  listener, 
hiding  himself,  6  8*  rfif.  VVKTI  COIKWS  ;  was  only  remembered 
by  all  as  a  delightful  companion." 

Page  203,  note  i. 

England's  genius  filled  all  measure 

Of  heart  and  soul,  of  strength  and  pleasure, 

i  In  Mr.  Cabot's  Memoir,  vol.  ii.  p.  5yz,  see  Mr.  Emerson's  letter 
on  his  mother's  death. 


352  NOTES 

Gave  to  the  mind  its  emperor, 

And  life  was  larger  than  before  : 

Nor  sequent  centuries  could  hit 

Orbit  and  sum  of  Shakspeare's  wit. 

The  men  who  lived  with  him  became 

Poets,  for  the  air  was  fame. 

"  The  Solution,"  Poems. 

Page  204,  note  i.  While  writing  this,  Mr.  Emerson  was 
surrounded  by  persons  paralyzed  for  active  life  in  the  common 
world  by  the  doubts  of  conscience  or  entangled  in  over-fine 
spun  webs  of  their  intellect. 

Page  205,  note  i.  Journal,  1837.  "I  either  read  or  in 
ferred  to-day  in  the  Westminster  Review  that  Shakspeare  was 
not  a  popular  man  in  his  day.  How  true  and  wise.  He  sat 
alone  and  walked  alone,  a  visionary  poet,  and  came  with  his 
piece,  modest  but  discerning,  to  the  players,  and  was  too  glad 
to  get  it  received,  whilst  he  was  too  superior  not  to  see  its 
transcendent  claims." 

Page  206,  note  I.  The  following  is  the  "  Exordium  of  a 
lecture  on  Poetry  and  Eloquence,"  given  in  London  in  1848: 
"  Shakspeare  is  nothing  but  a  large  utterance.  We  cannot 
find  that  anything  in  his  age  was  more  worth  telling  than 
anything  in  ours;  nor  give  any  account  of  his  existence,  but 
only  the  fact  that  there  was  a  wonderful  symbolizer  and  ex- 
presser,  who  has  no  rival  in  the  ages,  and  who  has  thrown 
an  accidental  lustre  over  his  time  and  subject." 

In  the  lecture  on  "  Works  and  Days  "  he  wrote,  "  Shak 
speare  made  his  Hamlet  as  a  bird  weaves  its  nest."  And 
in  that  on  "  Inspiration  "  in  Letters  and  Social  Aims :  "  Shak 
speare  seems  to  you  miraculous,  but  the  wonderful  juxtaposi 
tions,  parallelisms,  transfers,  which  his  genius  effected,  were 
all  to  him  locked  together  as  links  of  a  chain,  and  the  mode 


NOTES  353 

precisely  as  conceivable  and  familiar  to  higher  intelligence  as 
the  index-making  of  the  literary  hack." 

Journal,  1838.  "  Read  Lear  yesterday  and  Hamlet  to-day 
with  new  wonder  and  mused  much  on  the  great  Soul  in  the 
broad  continuous  daylight  of  these  poems.  Especially  I  won 
der  at  the  perfect  reception  this  wit  and  immense  knowledge 
of  life  and  intellectual  superiority  find  in  us  all  in  connection 
with  our  utter  incapacity  to  produce  anything  like  it.  The 
superior  tone  of  Hamlet  in  all  the  conversations  how  perfectly 
preserved,  without  any  mediocrity,  much  less  any  dulness  in 
the  other  speakers. 

"  How  real  the  loftiness!  an  inborn  gentleman;  and  above 
that,  an  exalted  intellect.  What  incessant  growth  and  pleni 
tude  of  thought,  —  pausing  on  itself  never  an  instant,  and  each 
sally  of  wit  sufficient  to  save  the  play.  How  true  then  and 
unerring  the  earnest  of  the  dialogue,  as  when  Hamlet  talks 
with  the  Queen.  How  terrible  his  discourse!  What  less  can 
be  said  of  the  perfect  mastery,  as  by  a  superior  being,  of  the 
conduct  of  the  drama,  as  the  free  introduction  of  this  capital 
advice  to  the  players ;  the  commanding  good  sense  which 
never  retreats  except  before  the  Godhead  which  inspires  cer 
tain  passages  —  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  wonder. 
I  will  think  nothing  impossible  to  man.  No  Parthenon,  no 
sculpture,  no  picture,  no  architecture  can  be  named  beside 
this.  All  this  is  perfectly  visible  to  me  and  to  many,  —  the 
wonderful  truth  and  mastery  of  this  work,  of  these  works,  — 
yet  for  our  lives  could  not  I,  or  any  man,  or  all  men,  pro 
duce  anything  comparable  to  one  scene  in  Hamlet  or  Lear. 
With  all  my  admiration  of  this  life-like  picture,  set  me  to 
producing  a  match  for  it,  and  I  should  instantly  depart  into 
mouthing  rhetoric.  .  .  .  One  other  fact  Shakspeare  presents 
us  ;  that  not  by  books  are  great  poets  made.  Somewhat  — 

IV 


354  NOTES 

and  much,  he  unquestionably  owes  to  his  books;  but  you  could 
not  find  in  his  circumstances  the  history  of  his  poems.  It  was 
made  without  hands  in  his  invisible  world.  A  mightier  magic 
than  any  learning,  the  deep  logic  of  cause  and  effect  he  studied: 
its  roots  were  cast  so  deep,  therefore  it  flung  out  its  branches 
so  high." 

Page  207,  note  i.  Mr.  Edwin  P.  Whipple,  writing  in 
Harper's  Monthly  in  1882,  relates  how  in  a  long  drive  with 
Mr.  Emerson,  after  a  lecture,  "  The  conversation  at  last 
drifted  to  contemporary  actors  who  assumed  to  personate  lead 
ing  characters  in  Shakspeare's  greatest  plays.  Had  I  ever  seen 
an  actor  who  satisfied  me  when  he  pretended  to  be  Hamlet  or 
Othello,  Lear  or  Macbeth  ?  Yes,  I  had  seen  the  elder  Booth 
in  these  characters.  Though  not  perfect,  he  approached  nearer 
to  perfection  than  any  other  actor  I  knew.  .  .  . 

"'Ah,'  said  Emerson,  [after]  the  three  minutes  I  con 
sumed  in  eulogizing  Booth,  .  .  .  '  I  see  you  are  one  of  the 
happy  mortals  who  are  capable  of  being  carried  away  by  an 
actor  of  Shakspeare.  Now,  whenever  I  visit  the  theatre  to  wit 
ness  the  performance  of  one  of  his  dramas,  I  am  carried  away 
by  the  poet.  I  went  last  Tuesday  to  see  Macready  in  Hamlet. 
I  got  along  very  well  until  he  came  to  the  passage:  — 

"  thou,  dead  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel, 
Revisit' st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon:  "  — 

and  then  actor,  theatre,  all  vanished  in  view  of  that  solving 
and  dissolving  imagination,  which  could  reduce  this  big  globe 
and  all  it  inherits  into  mere  "  glimpses  of  the  moon."  The 
play  went  on,  but,  absorbed  in  this  one  thought  of  the  mighty 
master,  I  paid  no  heed  to  it.' 

"  What  specially  impressed  me,  as  Emerson  was  speaking, 
was  his  glance  at  our  surroundings  as  he  slowly  uttered, 


NOTES  355 

'glimpses  of  the  moon,'  for  here  above  us  was  the  same  moon 
which  must  have  given  birth  to  Shakspeare's  thought.  .  .  . 
Afterward,  in  his  lecture  on  Shakspeare,  Emerson  made  use 
of  the  thought  suggested  in  our  ride  by  moonlight.  He  said, 
'  That  imagination  which  dilates  the  closet  he  writes  in  to  the 
world's  dimensions,  crowds  it  with  agents  in  rank  and  order, 
as  quickly  reduces  the  big  reality  to  be  the  "  glimpses  of  the 
moon."  '  ...  In  the  printed  lecture,  there  is  one  sentence 
declaring  the  absolute  insufficiency  of  any  actor,  in  any  theatre, 
to  fix  attention  on  himself  while  uttering  Shakspeare's  words, 
which  seems  to  me  the  most  exquisite  statement  ever  made  of 
the  magical  suggestiveness  of  Shakspeare's  expression.  I  have 
often  quoted  it,  but  it  will  bear  quotation  again  and  again, 
as  the  best  prose  sentence  ever  written  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic:  *  The  recitation  begins;  one  golden  word  leaps  out 
immortal  from  all  this  painted  pedantry,  and  sweetly  torments 
us  with  invitations  to  its  own  inaccessible  homes. ' ' 
Page  208,  note  I. 

The  little  Shakspeare  in  the  maiden's  heart 
Makes  Romeo  of  a  ploughboy  on  his  cart; 
Opens  the  eye  to  Virtue's  starlike  meed 
And  gives  persuasion  to  a  gentle  deed. 

"The  Enchanter,"  Peems,  Appendix. 

Page  2IO,  note  I.  And  yet  perhaps  there  is  some  truth  in 
Dr.  Richard  Garnett's  word  in  his  Life  of  Emerson :  "Emer 
son  is  incapable  of  contemplating  Shakspeare  with  the  eye  of 
a  dramatic  critic." 

Just  after  Mr.  Emerson  settled  in  Concord  he  read  with 
great  pleasure  Henry  Taylor's  play  Philip  van  Artevelde, 
then  recently  published.  He  wrote  in  his  journal  for  1835:  — • 

"I  think  Taylor's  poem  is  the  best  light  we  have  ever  had 


356  NOTES 

upon  the  genius  of  Shakspeare.  We  have  made  a  miracle  of 
Shakspeare,  a  haze  of  light  instead  of  a  guiding  torch,  by 
accepting  unquestioned  all  the  tavern  stories  about  his  want 
of  education,  and  total  unconsciousness.  The  internal  evidence 
all  the  time  is  irresistible  that  he  was  no  such  person.  He  was 
a  man,  like  this  Taylor,  of  strong  sense  and  of  great  cultiva 
tion;  an  excellent  Latin  scholar,  and  of  extensive  and  select 
reading,  so  as  to  have  formed  his  theories  of  many  historical 
characters  with  as  much  clearness  as  Gibbon  or  Niebuhr  or 
Goethe.  He  wrote  for  intelligent  persons,  and  wrote  with 
intention.  He  had  Taylor's  strong  good  sense,  and  added  to 
it  his  own  wonderful  facility  of  execution  which  aerates  and 
sublimes  all  language  the  moment  he  uses  it,  or  more  truly, 
animates  every  word." 

Page  211,  note  I.  Lowell,  in  one  of  his  essays,  calls  atten 
tion  to  the  survival  in  New  England  of  the  type  of  face  of  the 
English  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  even  more  than  in  the  mother 
country,  and  also  to  the  old  English  expressions,  obsolete  in 
England,  but  still  current  on  New  England  farms. 

Page  212,  note  I.  Journal,  1838.  "Shakspeare  fills  us 
with  wonder  the  first  time  we  approach  him.  We  go  away, 
and  work  and  think,  for  years,  and  come  again,  —  he  astonishes 
us  anew.  Then,  having  drank  deeply  and  saturated  us  with 
his  genius,  we  lose  sight  of  him  for  another  period  of  years. 
By  and  by  we  return,  and  there  he  stands  immeasurable  as  at 
first.  We  have  grown  wiser,  but  only  that  we  should  see  him 
wiser  than  ever.  He  resembles  a  high  mountain  which  the 
traveller  sees  in  the  morning,  and  thinks  he  shall  quickly  near 
it  and  pass  it,  and  leave  it  behind.  But  he  journeys  all  day 
till  noon,  till  night.  There  still  is  the  dim  mountain  close 
by  him,  having  scarce  altered  its  bearings  since  the  morning 
light." 


NOTES  357 

Page  2i6y  note  i. 

And  yet  it  seemeth  not  to  me 
That  the  high  gods  love  tragedy; 
For  Saadi  sat  in  the  sun, 
And  thanks  was  his  contrition; 

And  yet  his  runes  he  rightly  read, 
And  to  his  folk  his  message  sped. 

"Saadi,"  Poems. 

Page  217,  note  i.  This  image  appears  in  "  The  Apology  " 
in  the  Poems. 

Page  218,  note  I.  The  Puritan  shrinking  from  the  form 
in  which  the  great  poet  embodied  his  thought  or  oracles  or 
dreams  still  appears  in  the  journal  of  1852,  yet,  contrasted  to 
the  dismal  seers,  Shakspeare  is  well-nigh  pardoned  his  levity. 

"There  was  never  anything  more  excellent  came  from 
a  human  brain  than  the  plays  of  Shakspeare,  bating  only  that 
they  were  plays.  The  Greek  has  a  real  advantage  of  them 
in  the  degree  in  which  his  dramas  had  a  religious  office.  Could 
the  priest  look  him  in  the  face  without  blenching  ? ' ' 

In  1839  Mr.  Emerson  had  written  :  — 

"It  is  in  the  nature  of  things  that  the  highest  originality 
must  be  moral.  The  only  person  who  can  be  entirely  inde 
pendent  of  this  fountain  of  literature  and  equal  to  it,  must  be 
a  prophet  in  his  own  proper  person.  Shakspeare,  the  first  lit 
erary  genius  of  the  world,  leans  on  the  Bible  :  his  poetry 
supposes  it.  If  we  examine  this  brilliant  influence,  Shakspeare, 
as  it  lies  in  our  minds,  we  shall  find  it  reverent,  deeply 
indebted  to  the  traditional  morality,  in  short,  compared  with 
the  tone  of  the  prophets,  Secondary.  On  the  other  hand,  the 


358  NOTES 

Prophets  do  not  imply  the  existence  of  Shakspeare  or  Homer, 
—  to  no  books  or  arts,  — only  to  dread  Ideas  and  emotions." 

Page  219,  note  I.  All  through  his  life  Mr.  Emerson  felt 
increasing  thankfulness  for  "the  Spirit  of  joy  which  Shak 
speare  had  shed  over  the  Universe."  In  i  864  he  wrote  :  — 

"  When  I  read  Shakspeare,  as  lately,  I  think  the  criticism 
and  study  of  him  to  be  in  their  infancy.  The  wonder  grows 
of  his  long  obscurity  :  —  how  could  you  hide  the  only  man 
that  ever  wrote  from  all  men  who  delight  in  reading  ?  ' ' 

And  again  he  wrote  :  "Your  criticism  is  profane.  Shak 
speare  by  Shakspeare.  The  poet  in  his  interlunation  is  a 
critic,"  — that  is,  his  worst  is  criticised  by  his  best  perform 
ance. 

Journal,  1864.  "  How  to  say  it  I  know  not,  but  I  know 
that  the  point  of  praise  of  Shakspeare  is  the  pure  poetic 
power  :  he  is  the  chosen  closet  companion,  who  can,  at  any 
moment,  by  incessant  surprises,  work  the  miracle  of  mytho- 
logizing  every  fact  of  the  common  life;  as  snow,  or  moonlight, 
or  the  level  rays  of  sunrise  lend  a  momentary  glow  to  every 
pump  and  wood-pile." 

And  again:  1836.  "It  is  easy  to  solve  the  problem  of 
individual  existence.  Why  Milton,  Shakspeare,  or  Canova 
should  be  there  is  reason  enough.  But  why  the  million  should 
exist  drunk  with  the  opium  of  Time  and  Custom  does  not 
appear." 

But  even  Shakspeare  must  not  be  idolized.  The  soul  must 
rely  on  itself,  that  is,  on  the  universal  fountain  of  beauty, 
wisdom  and  goodness  to  which  it  is  open.  So  thus  he  draws 
the  moral:  — 

1838.  "  The  indisposition  of  men  to  go  back  to  the  source 
and  mix  with  Deity  is  the  reason  of  degradation  and  decay. 
Education  is  expended  in  the  measurement  and  imitation  of 


NOTES  359 

effects  in  the  study  of  Shakspeare,  for  example,  as  itself  a  per 
fect  being  —  instead  of  using  Shakspeare  merely  as  an  effect 
of  which  the  cause  is  with  every  scholar.  Thus  the  college 
becomes  idolatrous  —  a  temple  full  of  idols.  Shakspeare  will 
never  be  made  by  the  study  of  Shakspeare.  I  know  not  how 
directions  for  greatness  can  be  given,  yet  greatness  may  be  in 
spired." 

Feb.  1838.  "Consider  too  how  Shakspeare  and  Milton 
are  formed.  They  are  just  such  men  as  we  all  are  to  their 
contemporaries,  and  none  suspected  their  superiority,  —  but 
after  all  were  dead,  and  a  generation  or  two  besides,  it  is 
discovered  that  they  surpass  all.  Each  of  us  then  take  the 
same  moral  to  himself." 


NAPOLEON;  OR,  THE    MAN   OF   THE  WORLD 

The  man  of  action,  made  on  the  largest  pattern,  with  in 
tellect  to  match  his  will,  and  yet  a  believer  in  his  star,  to 
which,  though  it  turned  out  to  be  but  a  lurid  planet,  not  a 
sun,  he  "hitched  his  wagon,"  could  not  fail  to  interest 
Emerson. 

"That  world's  earthquake,  Waterloo,"  occurred  when  he 
was  twelve  years  old. 

He  supplemented  his  Plutarch's  Lives  by  all  the  memoirs 
of  Napoleon  then  written,  and  especially  enjoyed  his  letters  to 
his  brother,  the  King  of  Spain. 

Courage,  address  and  disbelief  in  the  impossible  were  vir 
tues  as  much  needed  by  the  scholar  as  the  soldier,  but  execu 
tive  ability,  knowledge  how  to  deal  directly  with  men  and 
things,  was  admired  by  the  man  of  the  gown.  He  said,  "  1 


360  NOTES 

like  people  who  can  do  things."  In  his  journal  of  1838  he 
thus  contrasted  temperaments :  — 

"The  advantage  of  the  Napoleon  temperament,  impassive, 
unimpressible  by  others,  is  a  signal  convenience  over  this 
other  tender  one,  which  every  aunt  and  every  gossiping  girl 
can  daunt  and  tether.  This  weakness,  be  sure,  is  merely 
cutaneous,  and  the  sufferer  gets  his  revenge  by  the  sharpened 
observation  that  belongs  to  such  sympathetic  fibre.  As  even 
in  college  I  was  already  content  to  be  '  screwed '  in  the 
recitation  room,  if  on  my  return,  I  could  accurately  paint  the 
fact  in  my  youthful  journal. ' ' 

And  in  1856  his  interest  in  "  other  people's  facts,"  to  find 
in  them  the  law  applicable  to  his  own  or  every  man's  life, 
thus  appears:  — 

"  '  Whatever  they  may  tell  you,  believe  that  one  fights 
with  cannon  as  with  fists,'  said  Napoleon  ;  «  when  once  the  fire 
is  begun,  the  least  want  of  ammunition  renders  what  you  have 
already  done  useless.'  I  find  it  easy  to  translate  all  his  tech 
nics  into  all  of  mine,  and  his  official  advices  are  to  me  more 
literary  and  philosophical  than  the  memoir es  of  the  Academy. ' ' 

And  again  in  I  844:  — 

"I  myself  can  easily  translate,  not  without  some  terror, 
the  maxim,  '  that  an  army  should  never  have  more  than  one 
line  of  operation  '  and  the  principle  of  '  never  joining  youi 
columns  before  your  enemy  or  near  him.'  ' 

This  lecture  on  Napoleon,  like  that  on  Shakspeare,  was 
read  in  Exeter  Hall,  London,  in  1848. 

Page  22 J,  note  I.  Malpighi's  dictum  of  tola  in  minimil 
existit  Natura. 

Page  225,  note  i.  Anecdotes  of  this  kind,  which  Mr. 

Emerson  used  as  parables,  always  interested  him,  and  in  hii 


NOTES  361 

lectures  he  found  their  sure  value,  though  when  he  pruned 
these  with  a  classic  severity  for  his  essays,  many  were  omitted. 
Mrs.  Emerson  objected  to  this,  but  he  said  that  when  the 
lectures  were  published  "  they  must  have  on  their  Greek 
jackets."  On  coming  home  from  church  in  1835  he  wrote 
in  his  journal:  — 

"  I  cannot  hear  a  sermon  without  being  struck  by  the  fact 
that  amid  drowsy  series  of  sentences  what  a  sensation  a  his 
torical  fact,  a  biographical  name,  a  sharply  objective  illustra 
tion  makes!  Why  will  not  the  preacher  heed  the  admonition 
of  the  silence  momentary  of  his  congregation  and  (what  is 
often  shown  him)  that  this  particular  sentence  is  all  they  carry 
away  ?  Is  he  not  taught  hereby  that  the  synthesis  is  to  all 
grateful,  and  to  most  indispensable,  of  abstract  thought  and  a 
concrete  body  ?  Principles  should  be  verified  by  the  adducing 
of  facts  and  sentiments  incorporated  by  their  appropriate 
imagery.  Only  in  a  purely  scientific  composition,  which  by 
its  text  and  structure  addresses  itself  to  philosophers,  is  a  writer 
at  liberty  to  use  mere  abstractions." 

Page  228,  note  I.  Dr.  Richard  Garnett  in  his  Life  of 
Emerson  says  in  connection  with  this  paragraph:  "  The  dis 
cussion  on  Napoleon  shows  Emerson  at  his  best  as  a  connois 
seur  of  men,  and  would  alone  prove  that  he  did  not  addict 
himself  to  speculation  out  of  incapacity  or  contempt  for  the 
affairs  of  the  world.  The  ideologist  judges  the  man  of  action 
more  shrewdly  and  justly  than  the  man  of  action  would  have 
judged  the  ideologist;  and  after  having  most  brilliantly  painted 
Napoleon's  perfect  sufficiency  in  all  things  for  which  virtue 
is  not  needful,  puts  him  on  his  right  footing  with  '  Bonaparte 
is  the  idol  of  common  men,'  "  etc. 

In  the  following  extract  from  the  journal  the  scholar  owns 
his  debt  to  the  great  soldier  :  — 


362  NOTES 

May  I,  1838.  "  I  sat  in  sunshine  this  afternoon  beside 
my  little  pond  in  the  woods,  and  thought  how  wide  are  my 
works  and  my  plays  from  those  of  the  great  men  I  read  of  or 
think  of.  And  yet  the  solution  of  Napoleon,  whose  life  I  have 
been  reading,  lies  in  my  feelings  and  fancies  as  I  loiter  by 
this  rippling  water.  I  am  curious  concerning  his  day,  — 
what  filled  it,  —  the  crowded  orders,  the  stern  determinations, 
the  manifold  etiquette.  The  soul  answers,  Behold  his  day ! 
In  the  sighing  of  these  woods,  in  the  quiet  of  these  gray  fields, 
in  the  cool  breeze  that  sings  out  of  those  Northwestern  moun 
tains,  in  the  workmen,  the  boys,  the  girls  you  meet,  in  the 
hopes  of  the  morning,  the  ennui  of  noon,  and  sauntering 
of  afternoon,  in  the  disquieting  comparisons,  in  the  regrets  at 
want  of  vigor,  in  the  great  idea  and  the  puny  execution,  behold 
Napoleon's  day;  another,  yet  the  same  ;  behold  Byron's, 
Webster's,  Canning's,  Milton's,  Scipio's,  Pericles' s  day  — 
Day  of  all  that  are  born  of  woman." 

Page  229,  note  I .  Mr.  Emerson  was  alive  to  the  failings 
of  his  class.  The  one  fault  that  he  finds  with  Plato  is  that  in 
dealing  with  the  questions  of  life  and  passion  and  sin  and  hope 
"he  is  always  literary  and  never  otherwise." 

Page  2JO,  note  I,  There  is  in  one  of  Mr.  Emerson's 
note-books  a  newspaper  cutting  containing  a  translation  of  a 
remarkable  characterization  of  Napoleon  by  Fichte  in  a  lecture 
given  at  Berlin  in  1813.  The  following  is  quoted  from  it:  — 

"  Let  us  now  look  at  the  man  who  has  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  that  people.  First  of  all,  he  is  no  Frenchman. 
If  he  were,  those  social  fundamental  views  and  that  regard 
for  the  opinions  of  others,  or,  in  short,  for  something  outside 
of  himself,  as  well  as  that  benevolent  weakness  and  inconse 
quence  which  manifested  themselves,  for  instance,  in  Louis 
XIV.,  —  in  my  opinion  the  worst  outgrowth  of  French  na- 


NOTES  363 

tional  character,  —  would  also  have  been  exhibited  in  him. 
But  he  came  from  a  people  which,  even  among  the  ancients, 
were  notorious  as  savages ;  which  at  the  time  of  his  birth  had 
relapsed  into  still  greater  barbarism,  through  bitter  slavery; 
which  had  fought  a  hard  struggle  to  break  its  chains,  and  .  .  . 
been  cheated  out  of  its  freedom.  .  .  .  He  received  his 
education  among  the  French  people,  whom  he  thus  became 
acquainted  with;  the  character  of  that  nation  exhibiting  itself 
at  that  time  in  a  revolution  whereof  he  had  opportunity  to  ob 
serve  the  most  secret  motives.  He  could  not  fail  soon  to  com 
prehend  with  convincing  clearness  this  people  to  be  a  very 
excitable  body,  capable  of  taking  any  direction  given  to  it  from 
without,  but  utterly  incapable  of  giving  to  itself  a  self-deter 
mined  and  permanent  direction.  .  .  .  This  complete  clear 
ness  concerning  the  true  character  of  the  nation  over  which 
he  assumed  supreme  rule  was  reinforced  by  a  powerful  and 
inflexible  will,  grounded  in  his  descent  from  a  strong  people, 
and  hardened  through  his  continual  but  secret  conflict  with 
the  surroundings  of  his  youth.  Armed  with  these  two  com 
ponents  of  human  greatness,  calm  clearness  and  firm  will,  he 
would  have  become  the  benefactor  and  savior  of  mankind, 
if  but  the  slightest  presentiment  of  the  moral  nature  of  man 
had  fallen  upon  his  soul.  But  it  did  not.  And  thus  he  be 
came  an  example  for  all  time  as  to  what  these  two  compo 
nents,  purely  by  themselves  and  without  any  contemplation 
of  the  spiritual,  can  achieve. ' ' 

Page  231 ',  note  I.  In  the  journal  the  quotation  from  Las 
Casas,  which  follows  in  the  text,  is  preceded  by  this  sen 
tence:  "  It  was  observed  that  the  Emperor  was  not  fond  of 
setting  forward  his  own  merits:  'That  is,'  said  he,  'because 
with  me  morality  and  generosity  are  not  in  my  mouth,  but  in 
my  nerves.'  ' 


364  NOTES 

PaSe  23I»  note  2>  There  is  a  remarkable  passage  in  the 
oration  called  "  Literary  Ethics  "  (Nature,  Addresses  and  Lec 
tures,  p.  179)  on  Napoleon's  utter  "faithfulness  to  facts" 
in  his  campaigns,  but  also  his  reserve  belief  "  in  the  freedom 
and  quite  incalculable  force  of  the  soul." 

Page  2Jf,  note  I.  "  As  I  quote  at  second  hand,  and  can 
not  procure  Seruzier,  I  dare  not  adopt  the  high  figure  I  find." 
Note  to  First  Edition. 

Page  240,  note  I.  This,  and  the  story  of  Caesar's  civilly 
eating  the  asparagus  which  his  poor  host  had  dressed  with  a 
salve,  and  his  reproving  his  officers  for  their  grimaces  of  dis 
gust,  always  strongly  appealed  to  Mr.  Emerson's  natural  feel 
ings  of  consideration  and  courtesy  to  the  humblest  person. 
He  was  drawn  more  to  Napoleon  by  this  speech,  "  Respect 
the  burden,  Madam,"  than  by  any  other  story  told  of  him, 
and  he  frequently  used  it  as  a  lesson  to  his  children  and  others, 
of  honor  and  consideration  for  laborers  and  servants. 

Page  242,  note  I.  Journal,  1836.  "  I  like  the  man  in 
O '  Meara'  s  picture.  He  is  good-natured,  as  greatness  always  is, 
and  not  pompous." 

Page  246,  note  I.  Mr.  Emerson  delights  in  a  liberator  of 
man.  He  defines  the  poet  as  such  in  one  way,  and  the  hero 
of  this  chapter  in  another  way. 

Napoleon's  sharing  the  hardships  of  his  soldiers,  and  per 
sonal    knowledge  of  them,   his  power  of  labor,   his  faith  in 
means,  his  breaking  down  the  bars  of  feudalism  and  throwing 
open  the    door,   closed    for  centuries    to  native    power    and 
merit  in  the  humblest,  went  far  with  Emerson. 
Laurel  crowns  cleave  to  deserts, 
And  power  to  him  who  power  exerts. 

In  the  essay  on  "  Aristocracy,"  in  Lectures  and  Biographical 
Sketches,  is  much  to  this  purpose. 


NOTES  365 

But  the  touch  of  softness  and  of  imagination  in  this  Man  of 
Destiny  found  in  the  following  anecdote  gave  especial  pleasure: 

Journal,  1844.  "  Bonaparte  was  sensible  to  the  music  of 
bells.  Hearing  the  bell  of  a  parish  church,  he  would  pause 
and  his  voice  faltered  as  he  said,  '  Ah  !  that  reminds  me  of 
the  first  years  I  spent  at  Brienne.  I  was  then  happy.'  ' 

The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 

Stops  his  horse  and  lists  with  delight 

Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height. 

"  Each  and  All,"  Poems. 

Page  247,  note  I.  Journal.  "  History  is  zoology  and  not 
a  chapter  of  accidents." 

Page  251,  note  I.  A  curious  prophecy  of  the  natural 
antitoxins. 

Page  2J7,  note  2.  Journal,  1838.  "Napoleon  like  all 
men  of  genius,  is  greatly  impersonal  in  his  habit  of  thought. 
He  sees  the  sublime  laws  and  not  the  individual  men.  Men 
are  to  him  but  illustrations,  and  hence  a  magnanimous  toler 
ance.  .  .  .  The  Admiral  Cockburn  admits  that  '  Napoleon 
is  the  most  good-natured  and  reasonable  of  the  whole  set.' 
Able  men  generally  have  this  vast  fund  of  justice  and  good 
dispositions,  because  an  able  man  is  nothing  else  than  a  good 
free  vascular  organization  whereinto  the  Universal  Spirit  freely 
flows,  so  that  his  fund  of  justice  is  not  only  vast,  but  infinite." 

Page  251,  note  j.  Journal,  1845.  "Napoleon  stands  at 
the  confluence  of  the  two  streams  of  thought  and  of  matter, 
and  derives  thence  his  power." 

Page  256,  note  i.  "Jupiter  Scapin  "  is  a  title  which 
appears  to  have  been  applied  to  Napoleon  by  Abbe  de  Pradt. 

Page  257,  note  I.    Journal.    "  Napoleon  was  called  by 


366  NOTES 

his  men  Cent  Milk.    Add  honesty  to  him,  and  they  might 
have  called  him  Hundred  Millions." 

Page  257,  note  2.  Journal,  1838.  "  The  only  fault  in 
Napoleon's  Biography  is  that  he  was  beaten  at  Waterloo. 
What  can  Genius  avail  against  Facts,  which  are  the  Genius 
of  God?" 

'« Bonaparte  by  force  of  intellect  is  raised  out  of  all  com 
parison  with  the  strong  men  around  him.  His  marshals, 
though  able  men,  are  as  horses  and  oxen.  He  alone  is  a  fine 
tragic  figure  related  to  the  daemons,  and  to  all  time.  Add  as 
much  force  of  intellect  again,  to  repair  the  immense  defect  of 
this  morale,  and  he  would  have  been  in  harmony  with  the  ideal 
world." 

Boded  Merlin  wise, 

Proved  Napoleon  great,  — 

Nor  kind  nor  coinage  buys 

Aught  above  its  rate. 

Fear,  Craft  and  Avarice 

Cannot  rear  a  State. 

Out  of  dust  to  build 

What  is  more  than  dust,  — 

Walls  Amphion  piled 

Phoebus  stablish  must. 
Motto  to  "  Politics,"  Essays,  Second  Series. 


GOETHE,  OR,  THE  WRITER 

In  the  third  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  New  Eng 
land  was  introduced  to  German  thought  and  literature  by 
Everett,  Frothingham,  Norton,  Ticknor  and  others  of  her  bril 
liant  or  ambitious  scholars,  returning  from  foreign  travel,  and 


NOTES  367 

from  courses  at  continental  universities  to  which  they  had 
been  incited  by  the  study  of  Coleridge.  In  his  "  Historic 
Notes  of  Life  and  Letters  in  New  England,"  in  the  volume 
Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches,  Mr.  Emerson  tells  of  the 
awakening  influence  of  this  breeze  from  Germany  when  he 
was  an  undergraduate  and  a  divinity  student.  His  older 
brother  William,  destined,  like  his  ancestry  for  several  genera 
tions,  for  the  ministry,  graduating  from  Harvard  at  the  age 
of  seventeen,  had  after  four  years  of  school-teaching  gone 
to  Gottingen  to  study,  as  soon  as  the  earnings  of  Ralph  and 
Edward  left  him  free  to  leave  the  family,  of  which  since  his 
father's  death  he  had  shared  with  his  mother  the  heavy  respon 
sibility.  William's  mind  was  exact  and  judicial  and  his  con 
science  active.  The  German  philosophy  and  the  Biblical 
criticism  shook  his  belief  in  the  forms  and  teachings  of  the  re 
ligion  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up.  There  is  a  letter, 
still  preserved  in  the  family,  to  his  honored  step-grandfather, 
the  Rev.  Ezra  Ripley  of  Concord,  in  which  he  respectfully  but 
with  great  clearness  states  his  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  rite 
of  the  Lord's  Supper  was  not  authoritatively  established  by 
Jesus  for  perpetual  observance  as  a  sacrament  by  Christians. 
His  brother  Waldo  several  years  later  parted  with  his  church 
on  this  issue,  and,  in  his  sermon  explaining  his  reasons,  does 
not  urge  primarily  his  own  feeling  that,  as  a  form,  it  is  a 
hindrance  rather  than  a  help  to  true  devotion  and  unsuited 
to  our  race  and  our  day,  but  enters,  in  a  way  unusual  and 
remarkable  for  him,  into  a  critical  and  systematic  considera 
tion  of  the  scriptural  authorities  for  the  rite.  There  is  hardly 
room  for  doubt  that  this  argument  was  supplied  by  the  elder 
brother.  To  William,  beset  by  distressing  doubt  at  Gottingen, 
it  occurred  that,  but  eighty  miles  away  at  Weimar,  lived  the 
wisest  man  of  the  age.  He  forthwith  sought  him  out,  was 


368  NOTES 

kindly  received,  and  laid  his  doubts  before  him.  He  hoped, 
no  doubt,  that  Goethe  could  clear  these  up,  and  show  some 
way  in  which  he  could  honorably  and  sincerely  exercise  the 
priestly  office.  The  counsel  which  he  received  was  in  effect 
—  for  unhappily  there  is  no  written  record  and  the  story  rests 
on  family  tradition — -to  persevere  in  his  profession,  comply 
with  the  usual  forms,  preach  as  best  he  could,  and  not  trouble 
his  family  and  his  hearers  with  his  doubts.  Happily  the  youth, 
at  this  parting  of  the  ways  where  the  great  mind  of  the  age 
acted  the  part  of  the  Tempter,  turned  his  back,  and  again 
listened  to  the  inward  voice.  He  left  the  ancestral  path,  gave 
up  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  his  plan  of  life  for  which  he  had 
been  with  diligence  and  sacrifice  preparing  himself,  and  studied 
law.  He  was  an  honorable  and  successful  practitioner,  but 
his  standard  of  work,  and  the  sacrifices  and  heroic  asceticism 
of  his  early  life  made  him  a  sufferer  all  his  days. 

This  counsel  of  Goethe's  to  William  to  do  the  expedient,  not 
the  heroic,  must  have  made  a  lasting  impression  on  the  younger 
brother's  mind,  and,  soon  after,  Wilhelm  Meister,  translated 
by  Carlyle  in  1 824,  must,  in  spite  of  its  breadth  and  its  fascina 
tion,  have  shocked  the  young  New  England  minister  with  its  lax 
continental  morals.  After  his  visit  to  Carlyle  at  Ecclefechan 
in  1834,  his  love  for  and  faith  in  his  friend  led  Emerson  to 
comply  with  his  urgency  that  he  study  Goethe.  For  Carlyle' s 
sake  immediately  on  his  return  he  procured  Goethe's  Collected 
Works  in  the  original  and,  hitherto  unacquainted  with  German, 
set  himself  to  read  them  in  the  original. 

"  NOVEMBER  20,  1834. 

"  Far,  far  better  seems  to  me  the  unpopularity  of  this  Philo 
sophical  Poem  (shall  I  call  it?),  Sartor  Resartus,  than  the 
adulation  that  followed  your  eminent  friend  Goethe.  With  him 


NOTES  369 

I  am  becoming  better  acquainted,  but  mine  must  be  a  qualified 
admiration.  It  is  a  singular  piece  of  good-nature  in  you  to 
apotheosize  him.  I  cannot  but  regard  it  as  his  misfortune, 
with  conspicuous  bad  influence  on  his  genius,  —  that  velvet 
life  he  led.  .  .  .  Then  the  Puritan  in  me  accepts  no  apology 
for  bad  morals  in  such  as  he.  We  can  tolerate  vice  in  a 
splendid  nature  whilst  that  nature  is  battling  with  the  brute 
majority  in  defence  of  some  human  principle.  The  sympathy 
his  manhood  and  his  misfortunes  call  out  adopts  even  his  faults; 
but  genius  pampered,  acknowledged,  crowned,  can  only  retain 
our  sympathy  by  turning  the  same  force  once  expended  against 
outward  enemies  now  against  inward,  and  carrying  forward 
and  planting  the  standard  of  Oromasdes  so  many  leagues  farther 
on  into  the  envious  Dark." 

In  his  answer  Carlyle  said:  — 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  a  word  why  I  like  Goethe:  his  is  the 
only  healthy  mind,  of  any  extent,  that  I  have  discovered  in 
Europe  for  long  generations;  it  was  he  that  first  convincingly 
proclaimed  to  me  (convincingly,  for  I  saw  it  done^) :  Behold, 
even  in  this  scandalous  Sceptico-Epicurean  generation,  when  all 
is  gone  but  hunger  and  cant,  it  is  still  possible  that  Man  be  a 
Man !  For  which  last  Evangel,  the  confirmation  and  rehabili 
tation  of  all  other  Evangels  whatsoever,  how  can  I  be  too  grate 
ful  ?  On  the  whole,  I  suspect  you  yet  know  only  Goethe  the 
Heathen  (Ethnic);  but  you  will  know  Goethe  the  Christian 
by  and  by,  and  like  that  one  far  better." 

In  the  journal  of  1836  Mr.  Emerson  records  that  he  has 
been  reading  "  our  wise,  but  sensual,  loved  and  hated 
Goethe,"  on  the  open  secret  of  life:  "There  sits  he  at 
the  centre  of  all  visibles  and  knowables,  blowing  bubble  after 
bubble,  so  transparent,  so  round,  so  coloured,  that  he  thinks 
and  you  think  they  are  pretty  good  miniatures  of  the  all. 

IV 


370  NOTES 

Such  attempts  are  all  his  minor  poems,  proverbs,  Xenien,  par 
ables.  Have  you  read  the  Welt  Seele  ?  The  danger  of  such 
attempts  as  this  striving  to  write  universal  poetry  is,  —  that 
nothing  is  so  shabby  as  to  fail. 

"Yes,  you  may  write  an  ill  romance  or  play,  and  't  is  no 
great  matter.  Better  men  have  done  so  ;  but  when  what 
should  be  greatest  truths  flat  out  into  shallow  truisms,  then 
are  we  all  sick.  But  much  I  fear  that  Time,  the  serene 
Judge,  will  not  be  able  to  make  out  so  good  a  verdict  for 
Goethe  as  did  and  doth  Carlyle.  I  am  afraid  that  under  his 
faith  is  no-faith,  —  that  under  his  love  is  love-of-ease.  How 
ever  his  mind  is  Catholic  as  ever  any  was." 

Affection  for  Carlyle  gave  at  first  a  great  impulse  towards 
the  work  of  tunnelling  through  this  mountain  of  universal  learn 
ing  in  hard  German,  which  never  became  easy  for  Mr.  Emer 
son  to  read,  but  as  he  read,  real  interest  grew  in  this  mighty 
mind  and  the  eye  which 

.    .   .   bounded  to  the  horizon's  edge 
And  searched  with  the  sun's  privilege. 

In  writing  to  his  friend  in  April,  1840,  Mr.  Emerson 
said:  "You  asked  me  if  I  read  German,  and  I  forget  if  I 
have  answered.  I  have  contrived  to  read  almost  every  volume 
of  Goethe,  and  I  have  fifty-five,  but  I  have  read  nothing  else 
£/'.  e.  in  German]  :  but  I  have  not  now  looked  even  into 
Goethe  for  a  long  time.  There  is  no  great  need  that  I  should 
discourse  to  you  on  books,  least  of  all  on  his  books;  but  in  a 
lecture  on  Literature,  in  my  course  last  winter,  I  blurted  all  my 
nonsense  on  that  subject,  and  who  knows  but  Margaret  Fuller 
may  be  glad  to  print  it  and  send  it  to  you  ? ' '  This  paper  ap 
peared  in  the  Dial  in  "Thoughts  on  Modern  Literature," 
now  included  in  the  volume  Natural  History  of  Intellect. 


NOTES  371 

Though  Goethe  opened  vistas  of  knowledge  and  thought, 
the  gods  were  speaking  in  the  breath  of  the  wood  a  purer 
word,  and  the  new  day  shed  fresher  light  on  things  and  men. 
So  he  wrote  in  one  of  the  pocket  volumes:  — 

Six  thankful  weeks,  —  and  let  it  be 
A  meter  of  prosperity,  — 
In  my  coat  I  bore  this  book, 
And  seldom  therein  could  I  look, 
For  I  had  too  much  to  think, 
Heaven  and  earth  to  eat  and  drink. 
Is  he  hapless  who  can  spare 
In  his  plenty  things  so  rare? 

Always  in  his  praise  of  Goethe  there  was  a  reserve,  a  pro 
test  spoken  or  unspoken,  but,  with  all  abatements,  he  acknow 
ledged  the  debt  of  mankind  to  him.  In  the  essay  in  this  vol 
ume  it  is  noticeable  how  he  refrains  from  the  obvious  criticisms 
of  Goethe's  morals,  of  which  he  thought  enough  had  been 
said  in  Old  and  New  England.  He  wrote,  in  1 844,  of  stric 
tures  by  a  clergyman  on  Goethe's  religious  speculations:  — 

" pleased  the  people  of  Boston  by  railing  at  Goethe 

in  his  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration  because  Goethe  was  not  a  New 
England  Calvinist.  If  our  lovers  of  greatness  and  goodness 
after  a  local  type  and  standard  could  expand  their  scope  a 
little,  they  would  see  that  a  worshipper  of  truth,  and  a  most 
subtle  perceiver  of  truth  like  Goethe,  with  his  impatience  of 
all  falsehood  and  scorn  of  hypocrisy,  was  a  far  more  useful 
man  and  incomparably  more  helpful  ally  to  religion  than  ten 
thousand  lukewarm  church  members  who  keep  all  the  tradi 
tions  and  leave  a  tithe  of  their  estates  to  establish  them.  But 
this  clergyman  should  have  known  that  the  movement  which 
in  America  created  these  Unitarian  dissenters  of  which  he  is 


372  NOTES 

one,  began  in  the  mind  of  this  great  man  he  traduces;  that 
he  is  precisely  the  individual  in  whom  the  new  ideas  appeared 
and  opened  to  their  greatest  extent  and  with  universal  applica 
tion,  which  more  recently  the  active  scholars  in  the  different 
departments  of  Science,  of  State,  and  of  the  Church  have  car 
ried  in  parcels  and  thimblefuls  to  their  petty  occasions." 

In  the  Poems  he  bids  the  severe  critic  of  the  dead  Goethe's 
shortcomings  consider,  instead,  his  great  debt  to  him  for  his 
vast  achievement. 

Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves  ; 

Nor  seek  to  unwind  the  shroud 

Which  charitable  Time 

And  Nature  have  allowed 

To  wrap  the  errors  of  a  sage  sublime. 

"To  J.  W." 

Page  262,  note  I.  The  old  doctrine  of"  the  Flowing" 
again  in  the  living  record  of  the  living,  changing  fact,  — • 
flowing  Nature  as  the  apparition  of  the  living  God.  Going 
down  to  the  river,  whether  of  Memory  or  Experience,  we 
find  the  river  the  same,  but  the  waters  not  those  of  yesterday. 
The  motto  of  "  Spiritual  Laws  "  is  suggested  here. 

Page  263,  note  i.  As  a  further  instance  of  his  doctrine  of 
Compensation,  Mr.  Emerson  might  have  mentioned  that  when 
the  great  anatomist  Vesalius  had  the  luck  to  have  this  vivi 
secting  experiment  performed  for  him  by  the  amiable  Sultan, 
he  was  on  an  enforced  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land  at  the 
edict  of  the  Inquisition  in  expiation  of  his  heresy  in  saying 
that  Galen's  descriptions,  being  founded  on  dissections  of  ani 
mals,  were  incorrect  concerning  men. 

Page  263,  note  I.  "  Let  the  scholar  not  quit  his  belief 
that  a  pop-gun  is  a  pop-gun,  though  the  ancient  and  honour- 


NOTES  373 

able  of  the  earth  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of  doom."  —  ••  The 
American  Scholar,"  Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures, 

Page  268,  note  I.  The  thoughts  of  this  paragraph  are 
strongly  presented  in  "Aristocracy,"  and  those  in  the  next, 
on  the  importance  and  duty  of  the  Writer,  in  "  The  Scholar" 
and  "The  Man  of  Letters,"  all  in  Lectures  and  Biograph 
ical  Sketches. 

Page  2^O,  note  I.  Having  all  respect,  and  more,  —  won 
der,  —  at  Goethe's  vast  mental  range  and  insight,  and  at  his 
enormous  work  and  achievement,  Mr.  Emerson  chooses  "  in 
structive,"  and  no  stronger  word;  for,  as  to  duties,  he  felt 
that  the  lesson  was  in  what  was  done,  and  what  left  undone. 

Page  270,  note  2.  Journal,  1851.  "Goethe  is  the  piv 
otal  man  of  the  old  and  new  times  with  us.  He  shuts  up  the 
old,  he  opens  the  new.  No  matter  that  you  were  born  since 
Goethe  died,  —  if  you  have  not  read  Goethe,  or  the  Goethans, 
you  are  an  old  fogy,  and  belong  with  the  antediluvians." 

Page 2JI,  note  I.  Journal,  1836.  "  Goethe  the  observer. 
What  sagacity !  what  industry  of  observation !  what  impatience 
of  words  !  To  read  Goethe  is  an  economy  of  time;  for  you 
shall  find  no  word  that  does  not  stand  for  a  thing,  and  he  is 
of  that  comprehension  as  to  see  the  value  of  truth.  But  I  am 
provoked  with  his  Olympian  self-complacency." 

Journal,  1837.  "  A  characteristic  of  Goethe  is  his  choice 
of  topics.  What  an  eye  for  the  measure  of  things  !  Perhaps 
he  is  out  in  regard  to  Byron,  but  not  of  Shakspeare;  and  in 
Byron  he  has  grasped  all  the  peculiarities.  Paper  money;  pe 
riods  of  belief;  cheerfulness  of  the  poet;  French  Revolution; 
how  just  are  his  views  of  these  trite  things !  What  a  multitude 
of  opinions  and  how  few  blunders  !  The  estimate  of  Sterne 
I  suppose  to  be  one." 

Page  272,  note  i.    Journal,  1851.     "  One  listens  to  the 


374  NOTES 

magnifying  of  Goethe's  poem  by  his  critic,  and  replies,  '  Yes, 
it  is  good,  if  you  all  agree  to  come  in,  and  be  pleased;  '  and 
you  fall  into  another  company  and  mood,  and  like  it  not. 
It  is  so  with  Wordsworth.  But  to  Shakspeare  alone  God 
granted  the  power  to  dispense  with  the  humours  of  his  com 
pany.  They  must  needs  all  take  his.  He  is  always  good; 
and  Goethe  knew  it,  and  said,  '  It  is  as  idle  to  compare  Tieck 
to  me  as  me  to  Shakspeare.' 

"  I  looked  through  the  first  part  of  Faust  to-day  and  found 
it  a  little  too  modern  and  intelligible.  We  can  make  such  a 
fabric  at  several  mills,  though  a  little  inferior  [referring  to 
Bailey's  Fes t us  and  Browning's  Paracelsus^,  The  miracu 
lous,  the  beauty  which  we  can  manufacture  at  no  mill,  can 
give  no  account  of,  it  wants.  The  cheerful,  radiant,  profuse 
beauty  of  which  Shakspeare,  of  which  Chaucer,  had  the 
secret."  Some  of  the  above  extracts  and  more  concerning 
Faust  are  printed  in  "  Papers  from  the  Dial  ;  Thoughts  on 
Modern  Literature,"  in  the  volume  Natural  History  of  In 
tellect. 

Again  of  the  second  part  of  Faust  he  wrote  ing  the  journal 
of  1843:  — 

"In  Helena,  Faust  is  sincere  and  represents  actual  culti 
vated,  strong-natured  man.  The  book  would  be  farrago  with 
out  the  sincerity  of  Faust.  I  think  the  second  part  of  Faust 
the  grandest  enterprise  of  literature  that  has  been  attempted 
since  the  Paradise  Lost. ' ' 

Journal,  Aug.  18,  1832.  "  To  be  genuine.  Goethe,  they 
say,  was  wholly  so.  The  difficulty  increases  with  the  gifts 
of  the  individual.  A  ploughboy  can  be,  but  a  minister,  an 
orator,  an  ingenious  thinker,  how  hardly  !  George  Fox  was. 
«  What  I  am  in  words,'  he  said,  'I  am  the  same  in  life.' 
Swedenborg  was.  '  My  writings  will  be  found,'  he  said,  '  an- 


NOTES  375 

other  self. '  George  Washington  was,  —  '  the  irreproachable 
Washington.'  " 

Page  273,  note  I.  This  line  is  probably  a  translation  from 
some  Arabic  or  Persian  source,  from  the  connection  in  which 
it  appears  in  the  note-book. 

Page  274,  note  i.  Journal,  1831.  "As  History's  best 
use  is  to  enhance  our  estimate  of  the  present  hour,  so  the  value 
of  such  an  observer  as  Goethe,  who  draws  out  of  our  conscious 
ness  some  familiar  fact,  and  makes  it  glorious  by  showing  it  in 
the  light  of  this  [hour],  is  this,  that  he  makes  us  prize  all  our 
being  by  suggesting  its  inexhaustible  wealth;  for  we  feel  that 
all  our  experience  is  thus  convertible  into  jewels.  He  moves 
our  wonder  at  the  mystery  of  our  life." 

Page  2^4,  note  2.  Journal,  1839.  "Goethe  unlocks 
the  faculties  of  the  artist  more  than  any  writer.  He  teaches  us 
to  treat  all  subjects  with  greater  freedom,  and  to  skip  over  all 
obstruction,  time,  place,  name,  usage,  and  come  full  and  strong 
on  the  emphasis  of  the  fact. ' ' 

Journal,  1856.  "  When  Goethe  says,  Nature,  love,  truth, 
insight,  it  is  quite  another  thing  than  if  some  one  else  used 
those  words." 

Page  277,  note  I.  In  the  essay  called  "  Historic  Notes 
of  Life  and  Letters  in  New  England,"  Mr.  Emerson  thus 
spoke  of  the  first  part  of  Faust,  always  distasteful  to  him:  — 

"The  age  of  arithmetic  and  of  criticism  has  set  in  ... 
the  age  of  analysis  and  detachment.  ...  In  literature  the 
effect  appeared  in  the  decided  tendency  of  criticism.  The 
most  remarkable  literary  work  of  the  age  has  for  its  hero  and 
subject  precisely  this  introversion:  I  mean  the  poem  of  Faust." 

And  again  in  "  The  Man  of  Letters  "  in  the  same  volume 
he  says : — 

"  Our  profoundest  philosophy  (if  it  were  not  contradiction 


376  NOTES 

in  terms)  is  skepticism.  The  great  poem  of  the  age  is  the  dis 
agreeable  poem  of  Faust,  of  which  the  Festus  of  Bailey  and 
the  Paracelsus  of  Browning  are  English  variations. ' ' 

"  Goethe,  the  surpassing  intellect  of  modern  times,  appre 
hends  the  spiritual  but  is  not  spiritual." 

Page  -2/p,  note  I.  Among  the  few  novels  that  Mr.  Em 
erson  read  he  always  praised  Consuelo. 

Page  280,  note  I.  One  merit  noted  in  Wilhelm  Meister 
is  this,  from  the  journal:  — 

"  Goethe  certainly  had  good  thoughts  on  the  subject  of 
female  culture.  How  respectful  to  woman  and  hopeful  are  the 
portraits  in  Wilhelm  Meister." 

The  book  is  considered  at  some  length  in  the  "  Thoughts 
on  Modern  Literature."  In  its  realism  Mr.  Emerson  finds 
thus  much  to  his  liking,  —  an  eventual  good  coming  out  of  mis 
takes  and  failures,  a  Power 

Forging,  through  swart  arms  of  offence, 
The  silver  seat  of  Innocence. 

But  he  regrets  that  a  mind  like  Goethe's  chooses  to  paint  the 
Actual.  He  sets  him  down  as  the  poet  of  this,  and  not  of  the 
Ideal,  "  the  poet  of  limitation,  not  of  possibility;  of  this  world, 
and  not  of  religion  and  hope;  in  short,  if  we  may  say  so,  the 
poet  of  prose,  and  not  of  poetry.  He  accepts  the  base  doc 
trine  of  Fate,  and  gleans  what  straggling  joys  may  yet  remain 
out  of  its  ban."  Lacking  "a  moral  sense  proportionate  to  his 
powers,  .  .  .  the  cardinal  fact  of  health  or  disease  ...  he 
failed  in  the  high  sense  to  be  a  creator,  and,  with  divine 
endowments,  drops  by  irreversible  decree  into  the  common 
history  of  genius." 

Page  281,  note  i.  Journal,  1844.  "  Goethe  with  his  ex 
traordinary  breadth  of  experience  and  culture,  the  security  with 


NOTES  377 

which,  like  a  great  continental  gentleman,  he  looks  impartially 
over  all  literatures  of  the  mountains,  the  provinces  and  the  sea, 
and  avails  himself  of  the  best  in  all,  contrasts  with  the  vigour 
of  the  English,  and  superciliousness  and  flippancy  of  the  French. 
His  perfect  taste,  the  austere  felicity  of  his  style. 

"It  is  delightful  to  find  our  own  thought  in  so  great  a 
man." 

Page  282,  note  i.  But  a  few  years  after  this  passage  was 
written  Mr.  Emerson  had  occasion  to  write  the  like  with  more 
vigor  and  feeling  concerning  American  statesmen;  as  thus  :  — 

"  Very  little  reliance  must  be  put  on  the  common  stories 
that  circulate  of  this  great  senator's  or  that  great  barrister's 
learning,  their  Greek,  their  varied  literature.  That  ice  won't 
bear.  Reading!  do  you  mean  that  this  senator  or  that  lawyer 
who  stood  by  and  allowed  the  passage  of  infamous  laws  was  a 
reader  of  Greek  books  ?  That  is  not  the  question,  but  to  what 
purpose  did  they  read.  .  .  .  They  read  that  they  might 
know,  did  they  not  ?  Well,  these  men  did  not  know.  .  .  . 
They  were  utterly  ignorant  of  that  which  every  boy  or  girl  of 
fifteen  knows  perfectly,  —  the  rights  of  men  and  women." 
"  The  Man  of  Letters,"  Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches. 

Page  285,  note  i.  Yet  Mr.  Emerson  felt  that  Goethe  fell 
short  of  the  highest  culture  thus  elsewhere  defined  by  him:  — 

"The  foundation  of  culture,  as  of  character,  is  at  last  the 
moral  sentiment.  This  is  the  fountain  of  power,  preserves  its 
eternal  newness,  draws  its  own  rent  out  of  every  novelty  of 
science.  Science  corrects  the  old  creeds.  .  .  .  Yet  it  does  not 
surprise  the  moral  sentiment.  That  was  older,  and  awaited 
expectant  these  larger  insights."  —  "  Progress  of  Culture," 
Letters  and  Social  Aims. 

Page  288 y  note  i .  Xenien,  from  the  Greek,  was  used  by 
Goethe  and  Schiller  to  denote  epigrams. 


3?8  NOTES 

Page  290,  note  i.    Some  unfinished  verses  of  Emerson's, 
which   scarce   need  an  ending,    may  serve    perhaps   for  the 


moral. 


But  if  thou  do  thy  best, 
Without  remission,  without  rest, 
And  invite  the  sunbeam, 
And  abhor  to  feign  or  seem  ; 

If  thou  go  in  thine  own  likeness, 
Be  it  health,  or  be  it  sickness, 
If  thou  go  as  thy  father's  son, 
If  thou  wear  no  mask  or  lie 
Dealing  purely  and  nakedly,  — 


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